WITH  THE  INVADER: 

GLIMPSES    OF   THE    SOUTHWEST. 


BY 

EDWARDS    ROBERTS. 


SAN   FRANCISCO: 

SAMUEL  CARSON  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS. 

18S5. 


Copyright,  /SSjr. 

SAMUEL  CARSON  &   CO., 

San  Francisco,  Cal. 


"  *   .JVjr&iisXeserf'd..* 


C.  A    Murdoch  &  Co.,  Printers. 


F7 

/S85" 


TO 

M.  A.  R. 

cc 

ro  IN   MEMORY  OF   IDLE 

^  WANDERINGS   IN   MEXICO,    THIS   RECORD 

OF   TRAVEL   IS   AFFECTIONATELY 

DEDICATED   BY 

HER   SON. 


Si 


815371 


PREFACE. 


The  Railway  is  to-day  the  modern  invader  of  the  Southwest. 
By  its  advent  has  been  made  possible  that  of  the  Americans. 
Probably  the  region  is  being  overrun  for  the  last  time  by  foreign- 
ers; and  the  last  comers  are  the  ones  from  whom  the  country 
will  derive  its  greatest  blessings. 

The  following  chapters  do  not  pretend  to  contain  exhaustive 
information.  They  are  the  result  of  a  carelessly  planned  and 
leisurely  executed  journey,  and  describe  nothing  beyond  what 
every  traveler  may  easily  see  and  learn. 

The  Southwest,  vast  and  historically  interesting,  has  a  brilliant 
future.  Time,  money  and  labor  are  necessary  for  its  ultimate 
development,  but  already  the  land  of  prehistoric  people,  Spanish 
conquests  and  curious  legends  is  beginning  to  assert  itself. 

When  the  future  witnesses  a  realization  of  the  present  prcdic- 
tions,  and  when  the  Southwest  is  as  familiar  to  the  many  as  it 
now  is  to  the  few,  this  volume  may  at  least  be  historically  inter- 
esting as  containing  a  picture  of  Spanish  America  as  it  was 
in  1S84. 

THE  AUTHOR. 
San  Francisco,  Cal.,  Dec,  1884. 


CONTENTS, 


Page. 

I.  Romances  and  Realities  of  the  Southwest,  5 

II.  To  the  Pueblo  Stronghold, 24 

III.  America's  Oldest  City, 45 

IV.  Into  the  Heart  of  the  Southwest,  ...  69 
V.  A  Mexican  Metropolis, 88 

VI.  In  the  Footsteps  of  Coronado,       ....  106 

VII.  A  Seaport  of  Old  Mexico, 122 

VIII.  With  the  Franciscan  Fathers,       ....  138 


WITH    THE    INVADER! 

GLIMPSES    OF    THE     SOUTHWEST. 


CHAPTER   I. 

Romances  and  Realities  of  the  Southwest. 

BEFORE  the  Pilgrims  landed  upon  die  shores  of 
New  England;  when  Manhattan  Island  was  a 
wilderness;  before  Virginia  and  Florida  had  seen 
their  first  European;  in  the  years  of  the  supremacy  of 
Spain  in  Europe;  when  Cervantes  was  a  child,  and 
before  Milton,  Shakespeare  and  Bacon  were  bonr; 
before,  in  fact,  America  was  known  to  the  world,  or 
Columbus  had  begun  to  dream  that  it  existed,  the  great 
Southwest,  which  may  properly  mean  to-day  that  por- 
tion of  country  embraced  by  New  Mexico,  Arizona, 
Northwestern  Texas,  Southern  California  and  upper 
Old  Mexico  was  peopled  by  a  race  of  men  who  not 
only  enjoyed  a  high  degree  of  civilization  and  had 
towns  and  cities  of  great  size  and  importance,  but  who 
were  versed  in  the  sciences,  who  had  a  regular  form 
of  government,  and  who  cultivated  their  lands  in  a 
manner  most  approved  of  at  the  present  day. 

Who  these  early  settlers  in  this  section  of  America 


With  the  Invader. 


were  is  not  clearly  known.  It  has  not  been  determined 
whence  they  came  nor  whither  they  went. 

Whether  it  be  true  that  all  races  came  originally 
from  the  "Atlantis"  of  Homer,  and  that  the  Toltecs 
and  Aztecs  and  Indians  of  the  West  and  Southwest 
once  inhabited  that  island  supposed  to  exist  opposite 
the  entrance  to  the  Mediterranean;  or  that  the  original 
inhabitants  of  the  Rio  Grande  Valley  were  an  indige- 
nous people,  or  that  they  migrated  to  the  far  west  from 
Egypt,  matters  but  little,  and  is,  after  all,  only  a  ques- 
tion of  interest  to  the  closest  student  of  history  and 
mythology. 

That  the  works  of  art  left  by  the  Toltecs  and  Aztecs 
resemble  those  found  in  Egypt  and  in  Peru,  is  indis- 
putable. But  whether  the  west  supplied  the  east  or 
vice  versa  is  a  mystery  which  has  not  been  affected  by 
the  most  learned  theories  and  investigations.  The 
events  of  the  past  are  clouded  by  time;  the  record  of 
prehistoric  changes  was  never  written.  The  Incas  of 
Peru,  the  Aztecs  of  Mexico,  the  Pueblos  of  Arizona, 
the  Utes,  Apaches,  Arapahoes,  and  the  Delawares  of 
the  north  may  claim  kinship  with  the  Esquimaux 
around  the  north  pole,  or  with  the  dwellers  by  the 
waters  of  the  Nile,  and  none  can  dispute  with  them, 
for  the  past  is  all  a  blank. 

But  whoever  the  people  were,  they  had  advanced 
to  a  power  and  an  excellence  in  the  sixteenth  century 
which  was  phenomenal.  In  15 16  Hernandez  Cortez 
reached  the  shores  of  Old  Mexico  and  landed  at  Vera 


Romances  and  Realities  of  the  Southwest.  7 

Cruz.  Fighting  his  way  northward,  and  everywhere 
impressed  with  the  power  and  wealth  of  those  whom 
he  desired  to  conquer,  he  found  in  the  city,  now  known 
as  the  City  of  Mexico,  a  population  composed  of  men 
who  were  skilled  in  the  arts  and  sciences  and  who 
had  built  themselves  a  capital  which  might  well  have 
belonged  to  any  of  the  countries  of  Europe. 

Later  on,  when  Montezuma,  the  emperor  of  the 
Aztecs,  had  been  slain  and  the  Spaniards  had  overrun 
his  land,  other  explorers  from  Spain  marched  still 
farther  toward  the  north  into  New  Mexico  and  Arizona, 
discovering  in  these  countries  the  same  great  advance- 
ment and  high  civilization. 

They  found  canals  irrigating  the  lands,  prosperous 
villages,  rich  mines,  large  cities,  and  a  people  who  had 
evidently  inhabited  their  present  homes  for  many  cen- 
turies and  who  were  still  enjoying  the  benefits  of  their 
early  teachings.  There  was  in  fact,  a  nation  in  the 
new  world  which  was  a  surprise  to  the  Spaniards  when 
they  first  discovered  its  existence,  and  which  has  been 
the  wonder  and  the  admiration  of  succeeding  genera- 
tions. 

The  achievements  of  the  people  were  not  as  great 
in  New  Mexico  and  Arizona  as  they  were  in  Old 
Mexico  to  be  sure,  and  in  the  north  there  was  no  one 
who  equalled  Montezuma,  nor  cities  that  could  com- 
pare in  size  and  magnificence  with  that  in  which  the 
Aztec  chieftain  lived.  But  the  Indians  who  inhabited 
the  various  villages,  and  who  were  conversant  with  so 


With  the  Invader: 


much  that  one  would  naturally  suppose  they  would 
know  nothing  of,  were  interesting  objects  of  study  to 
the  Spaniard  three  hundred  years  ago  and  at  present 
lend  an  attractiveness  to  the  region  which  is  as  great  as 
ever  before 

There  is  a  certain  glamour  about  Spanish  America, 
as  the  Southwest  is  sometimes  called,  which  acquaint- 
ance does  not  dispel,  but  frhich  it  rather  intensifies. 
Not  only  are  its  history  and  traditions  interesting, 
the  more  so  perhaps  because  so  vague  and  full  of 
conjecture,  but  its  subjugation  was  attended  with  so 
much  that  is  romantic,  that  its  history  from  1540,  the 
date  of  the  first  invaders  visit,  to  1720,  the  year  when 
Spanish  rule  began  to  grow  commonplace,  reads  at 
times  like  the  fabulous  tales  of  an  active  imagination. 

It  seems  incredible,  when  the  truth  is  realized,  that 
there  could  possibly  have  been  this  great  empire  in 
existence,  when  the  rest  of  America  was  practically  a 
wilderness.  One  has  to  read  the  story  of  Spanish 
discoveries  again  and  again  before  understanding  the 
importance  which  the  southwestern  people  had  attained 
when  it  is  generally  supposed  that  Europe  alone  was 
creating  history  and  that  the  rest  of  the  world  was  un- 
inhabited. 

So  strange  is  the  story  and  so  unreal  does  it  at  first 
appear,  that  for  years  it  was  forgotten  and  from  the  time 
in  which  the  records  of  adventure  and  discovery  were 
prepared  by  Cortez  and  his  followers  to  the  day  when 
attention  was  attracted  to  the  country  on  account  of 


Romances  and  Realities  of  the  Southwest.  9 

its  great  riches,  the  Southwest  was  forgotten  and  its 
history  overlooked.  There  were  vague  ideas  enter- 
tained regarding  it.  It  became  a  land  of  myths  and 
shadows  and  unrealities  to  the  majority,  and  only  the 
few  were  conversant  with  its  peculiarities  and  with  its 
achievements. 

Prescott  resurrected  an  interest  in  Mexico  for  a 
time,  and  by  the  vividness  of  his  descriptions  of  the 
Spanish  conquest  created  a  reality  out  of  the  mythical 
Montezuma;  and  von  Humboldt  did  much  to  render 
the  distant  land  more  actual.  But  it  has  been  reserved 
for  the  modern  invaders  of  the  country,  the  Railways, 
to  bring  it  into  the  present.  To  the  iron  bands  which 
now  stretch  out  and  over  the  land  of  strange  events  and 
stranger  features  is  due  the  general  knowledge  which  is 
being  so  rapidly  disseminated.  It  is  not  idle  prophecy 
now  to  predict  that  in  a  few  years  Spanish  America's 
history,  people  and  appearance,  will  be  as  familiar  as 
Europe  or  as  the  rest  of  America.  We  may  not  come 
to  know  everything  which  has  happened,  down  in  this 
strange  corner  of  our  continent,  and  it  is  more  than 
likely  that  many  of  the  present  mysteries  will  remain 
mysterious  for  all  time  to  come.  But  in  the  future, 
now  that  they  are  brought  so  near  the  East  by  the 
railways,  Santa  Fe,  the  Rio  Grande  Valley,  the  Pueblos 
of  Taos,  Zuni,  and  Santo  Domingo,  Chihuahua,  Mex- 
ico City,  Guaymas,  and  the  relics  of  Arizona  will 
seem  less  shadowy  and  unreal,  and  more  like  what 
they  are — tangible  realities  having  an  existence  ante- 


io  With  the  Invader: 

dating  that  of  our  Jamestown,  our  Plymouth  and  our 
New  York. 

Before  the  railway  which  now  penetrates  the  south- 
west was  built,  the  Santa  Fe  Trail  was  the  only  road 
leading  to  Santa  Fe  and  to  the  various  sections  of 
country  about  that  ancient  metropolis.  Early  in  the 
present  century  fabulous  tales  were  told  in  the  East 
regarding  the  treasures  of  the  land  of  the  Hidalgos, 
and  in  time  a  line  of  travel  was  followed  by  various 
pioneers  which  led  westward  from  the  Missouri  River 
across  Kansas  and  down  the  centre  of  New  Mexico. 
Never  freed  from  dangers,  the  old  Santa  Fe  Trail  was 
the  scene  of  many  a  hardship  and  privation,  and  the 
guides,  who  piloted  heavy  trains  composed  of  wagons 
loaded  with  goods  consigned  to  Santa  Fe,  performed 
deeds  of  valor  and  bravery  which  have  made  their 
names  famous  throughout  the  land. 

It  was  in  taking  parties  to  Santa  Fe  that  Kit  Carson 
gained  his  great  renown.  The  reverse  of  anything  per- 
taining to  the  novelistic  hero,  Carson  was  never  known 
to  shrink  from  danger,  or  to  glory  in  his  achieve- 
ments. The  best  scout  that  ever  walked  the  prairies  of 
the  Far  West,  and  a  man  absolutely  without  fear,  he 
performed  the  hazardous  duties  which  devolved  upon 
him  without  a  murmur,  and  when  his  work  was  ended 
his  only  wish  was  to  be  buried  in  a  quiet  yard  at  Taos 
near  the  scenes  of  his  daring  exploits.  Another  hero  of 
the  trail  was  Frank  Aubry,  a  man  of  medium  stature 
and  slender  proportions,  but  of  iron  nerves  and  in- 


Romances  and  Realities  of  the  Southwest.         n 

domitable  courage.  He  was  an  excellent  scout  and 
did  much  for  the  safety  of  those  engaged  in  business 
with  the  Spanish  city.  Still  another  hero  was  Colonel 
A.  G.  Boone,  a  grandson  of  the  famous  pioneer.  He 
was  considered  the  best  linguist  of  any  of  the  scouts, 
and  is  said  to  have  been  able  to  speak  all  the  Indian 
languages. 

During  the  days  when  these  several  guides  were  most 
actively  employed,  the  business  transacted  over  the 
trail  between  Santa  Fe  and  the  East  assumed  gigantic 
proportions.  It  is  estimated  that  4000  people  were 
engaged  in  it  at  one  time  and  the  capital  employed 
reached  into  the  millions.  The  wagons  were  driven 
four  abreast,  and  each  caravan  started  out  under  con- 
trol of  a  captain,  whose  power  was  absolute.  At  night 
the  wagons  were  drawn  up  in  a  circle  around  a  camp 
fire  and  selected  sentinels  took  turns  in  keeping  watch 
over  their  sleeping  companions.  When  nearing  Santa 
Fe',  men  were  sent  in  advance  of  the  wagons  to  engage 
warehouses  and  make  contracts,  and  the  arrival  of  the 
caravan  was  signalized  by  a  general  holiday. 

The  profits  of  the  Santa  Fe'  business  were  enormous. 
Nothwithstanding  the  heavy  duties  levied  by  the  Mexi- 
cans upon  all  goods  brought  from  the  States  into  New 
Mexico,  men  were  sure  that  the  profits  would  more 
than  balance  all  expenses.  It  was  this  fact  that  caused 
so  many  to  engage  in  the  hazardous  undertaking.  No 
dangers  seemed  too  great  to  chill  the  enthusiasm 
which  prevailed,  and  to-day  one  may  see  from  the  car 


12  With  the  I? wader. 


windows  of  the  Atchison,  Topeka  and  Santa  Fe  trains, 
the  deep  ruts  marking  the  course  of  the  canvas  covered 
wagons  which  once  moved  slowly  to  and  from  the 
City  of  Santa  Fe. 

The  Atchison,  Topeka  and  Santa  Fe  Railroad  is  the 
pioneer  line  into  the  Southwest.  With  but  slight  devia- 
tions, it  closely  follows  the  old  trail,  whose  importance 
it  destroyed,  and  the  existence  of  which  first  suggested 
the  idea  of  building  a  railway  into  Spanish  America. 
With  the  completion  of  the  new  road  has  come  an 
absolute  cessation  of  the  hardships  and  dangers  which 
formerly  were  the  accompaniment  of  every  trip  to  the 
region  of  precious  ores  and  curious  features.  To-day 
one  may  travel  in  a  comparatively  short  space  of  time 
from  the  Missouri  River  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  in  a 
Pullman  car,  over  the  land  which  witnessed  many  a 
battle  less  than  a  century  ago  between  the  Pathfinders 
and  the  Indians,  and  where,  three  centuries  ago,  the 
restless  Spaniards  waged  fierce  wars  against  the  origi- 
nal owners  of  the  valleys,  plains  and  plateaus.  Santa 
Fe'  is  now  no  longer  an  isolated  and  unknown  city,  for 
it,  El  Paso  del  Norte  and  Chihuahua  and  the  towns 
scattered  along  the  valley  of  the  Rio  Grande,  are  on 
the  great  iron  highway  which  reaches  from  Vera  Cruz 
to  Kansas  City. 

The  changes  of  the  past  ten  years,  if  not  the  last  half 
dozen,  have  been  phenomenal  in  the  southwest.  The 
treaty  by  which  Mexico  gave  to  the  United  States  her 
vast  possessions,  is  bearing  fruit  at  last.     The  predic- 


Romances  and  Realities  of  the  Southwest.         ij 

tion  of  von  Humbold'.  that  the  wealth  of  the  world 
would  be  found  to  exist  in  the  Southwest  is  on  the 
verge  of  realization.  In  a  quarter  of  a  century  from 
the  present  time  it  is  not  unlikely  that  Spanish  America 
will  produce  enough  to  add  most  materially  to  the  na- 
tional wealth.  That  which  has  been  done  is  but  a 
suggestion  of  what  will  be.  No  one  to-day  can  begin 
to  realize  what  the  future  has  in  store  for  New  Mexico 
and  Arizona.  The  actualities,  great  as  they  are,  do 
not    compare    in    importance   with    the    possibilities. 

There  is  no  need  to  fear  that  the  constant  arrival  of 
foreigners  will  overtax  the  capacity  of  the  United 
States  to  provide  for  them,  when  the  size  of  the  South- 
west is  considered.  New  Mexico  is  larger  than  New 
England  and  New  York  and  Pennsylvania  together; 
and  Arizona  is  larger  still.  There  are  more  than  thirty 
millions  of  acres  of  land  in  these  two  territories  await- 
ing settlers;  and  only  a  fraction  of  the  country  has  yet 
been  developed  sufficiently  to  disclose  its  rich  mines 
of  valuable  ore. 

With  the  almost  assured  growth  and  development 
of  the  country  to  nourish  it,  the  present  railway  need 
have  no  doubt  as  to  its  ultimate  financial  success.  It 
has  the  best  route,  and  is  first  upon  the  ground. 
Pushed  far  beyond  the  limits  proposed  by  its  earliest 
progenitors,  the  road  has  been  the  creator  of  business. 
Towns  have  sprung  into  existence  because  of  its  arrival, 
and  mines  have  been  worked  because  capitalists  knew 
they  had  an  outlet  for  their  ore.      As  the  Denver  and 


14.  With  the  Invader. 


Rio  Grande  Railway  did  more  than  is  generally 
acknowledged  to  develop  Colorado,  which  it  covers 
with  a  network  of  lines,  so  the  Atchison  has  been  of 
material  benefit  to  New  Mexico.  It  has  brought  that 
country  within  easy  reach,  and  has  made  possible  its 
development. 

In  penetrating  the  Southwest,  the  Atchison,  Topeka 
and  Santa  Fe  was  built  across  Kansas,  along  the  banks 
of  the  Arkansas  River,  and  through  a  region  of  great 
fertility.  At  La  Junta,  sixty-three  miles  east  of  the 
town  of  Pueblo,  in  Colorado,  it  divides  itself  into  two 
distinct  lines,  one  extending  westward  to  the  Centen- 
nial State,  where  connection  is  made  with  the  roads 
through  Colorado  and  the  western  territories  to  the 
Pacific  Ocean,  and  the  other  reaching  almost  due 
southward,  over  the  Raton  Mountains,  into  New  Mex. 
ico,  Texas  and  Arizona.  In  February,  1867,  forty 
miles  of  the  railroad  were  in  operation;  in  1870  it  was 
completed  to  Emporia,  Kansas,  and  in  1873  had 
reached  the  Colorado  line.  In  1876  Pueblo  was  en- 
tered, and  in  1878  Trinidad,  New  Mexico,  became  the 
southern  terminus.  Santa  Fe  was  reached  in  1880 
and  Deming  in  1881. 

At  the  latter  town  in  Southern  New  Mexico  connec- 
tion is  made  with  the  Southern  Pacific  Road  which 
leads  through  Arizona  and  Southern  California  to  San 
Francisco.  Another  important  connection  is  at  Albu- 
querque, New  Mexico,  the  eastern  terminus  of  the 
Atlantic  and  Pacific  Railway.    This  road  is  built  across 


Romances  and  Realities  of  the  Southwest.         ij 

Northern  Arizona  to  the  Colorado  River,  and  there  has 
control  of  a  line  extending  into  California  as  far  as 
Mojave  on  the  Southern  Pacific  Road.  At  El  Paso, 
Texas,  the  Atchison  joins  the  Mexican  Central  Rail- 
way. The  latter  line  has  been  completed  during  the 
present  year  (1884)  and  is  one  of  the  most  important 
roads  yet  constructed.  It  extends  from  El  Paso  del 
Norte,  a  little  town  in  Mexico  built  upon  the  banks  of 
the  Rio  Grande  River,  and  directly  opposite  El  Paso, 
Texas,  to  the  City  of  Mexico.  Built  by  the  same  men 
who  constructed  the  Atchison,  Topeka  and-  Santa  Fe', 
and  in  close  harmony  with  it,  the  Mexican  Central 
seems  but  an  extension  of  the  Atchison,  and  does  in 
reality  form  with  it  a  grand  international  line  nearly 
3000  miles  in  length. 

Besides  these  connections  the  Atchison,  Topeka  and 
Santa  Fe  has  numerous  branches  of  its  own  which  are 
feeders  to  the  main  line,  and  by  which  important  sec- 
tions of  the  Southwest  are  reached.  At  Las  Vegas 
there  is  a  short  branch  to  the  Hot  Springs,  six  miles 
west  from  the  old  Mexican  city,  and  at  Lamy  another 
branch  of  the  road  extends  into  the  hills  of  New 
Mexico  to  Santa  Fe.  At  Nutt  Station,  in  Southern 
New  Mexico,  a  line  has  been  completed  to  Lake  Val- 
ley, twelve  miles  away,  where  are  located  several 
mining  properties  of  great  value.  The  product  of  one 
of  the  Lake  Valley  mines  for  the  last  six  months  of 
1882  was  one  million  dollars. 

At  Deming  a  line  fifty  miles  in  length  has  been  built 


1 6  With  the  Invader: 

to  Silver  City.  This  is  one  of  the  oldest  towns  in  the 
southern  part  of  the  territory,  and  has  a  population  of 
about  3000  people,  who  are  mostly  engaged  in  mining. 
The  famous  Santa  Rita  mines  are  near  Silver" City,  and 
Georgetown,  a  progressive  camp,  is  only  eighteen  miles 
distant.  The  stage  connections  of  the  Atchison  road 
are  also  numerous.  They  reach  every  known  town 
of  any  size  or  importance,  and  Concord  coaches  or 
wagons  meet  the  various  trains. 

Kansas  City,  perched  upon  its  high  bluff  overlook- 
ing the  muddy  waters  of  the  Missouri,  marks  the  limits 
of  the  middle  west  and  is  the  great  central  starting 
point  of  all  who  are  bound  for  the  Southwest  and 
Mexico.  Behind  one  lies  whatever  is  of  the  East, 
while  before  is  the  extended,  expansive  West,  with  its 
freshness,  its  wealth,  its  attractions  and  its  romances. 
Escaping  from  the  city,  with  its  ceaseless  rush  born  of 
an  almost  unequaled  vigor,  and  riding  rapidly  toward 
the  setting  sun,  one  begins  his  long  journey  across  the 
levels  of  Kansas  with  a  feeling  of  rest  and  buoyancy 
which  is  only  experienced  where  nature,  and  not  man 
alone,  is  the  chief  attraction.  The  Missouri  is  barely 
out  of  sight  before  Kansas  begins  to  exert  its  (harms. 
Broad,  cultivated  fields  stretch  away  in  every  direction 
and  there  is  evidence  everywhere  that  the  doubt  which 
once  existed  regarding  the  future  of  the  State  has  been 
dispelled  by  the  achievements  of  the  present. 

Kansas  to-day  is  wealthy,  and  its   future  is   most 
promising.     Having  a  length  of  four  hundred   miles 


Romances  and  Realities  of  the  Southwest.        rj 

and  a  width  of  two  hundred,  it  contains  52,000,000 
acres  of  land  and  a  population  of  nearly  1,500,000. 
At  the  Missouri  the  elevation  above  the  sea  is  barely 
400  feet;  at  its  western  extremity,  along  the  borders  of 
Colorado,  it  is  4000.  Admitted  to  the  Union  in  1861, 
and  having  a  most  eventful  history,  the  State  at  pres- 
ent is  the  great  farming  country  of  the  west.  Along 
the  railway,  towns  have  appeared  in  rapid  succession, 
until  there  is  left  not  even  a  suggestion  of  the  barren- 
ness formerly  existing. 

The  improvements  in  the  last  ten  years  are  manifold. 
The  valuation  has  increased  with  wonderful  rapidity. 
In  1S73  tnerc  were  2,530,769  acres  of  land  under  cul- 
tivation, valued  at  $28,311,200.  In  1883  there  were 
1 1,062,080  acres  cultivated,  with  a  valuation  of  $102,- 
°4-.-455>  an  increase  in  acreage  in  ten  years  of  8,531,- 
311  acres,  or  335  per  cent.  In  the  production  of 
cereals  there  has  also  been  a  large  increase,  as  follows: 

1876.  i3s3. 

Wheat,  bushels,  -  -       11,738,408       28,958,884 

Rye,  -      -      •      3.441,189      5,084,391 

Corn>       "         ...    82,308,176    182,084,526 
0ats>       "         ...    12,386,216     30,987,864 

In  18S3  the  State  produced  6,002,576  tons  of  hay, 
and  102,042  acres  were  planted  with  sorghum.  The 
latter  product  is  of  vast  importance.  Sugar  plays  an 
important  part  in  national  and  domestic  affairs.  In 
1 88 1  the  sum  paid  for  it  amounted,  with  imports, 
to  $57,000,000,  more  than  the  value  of  all  the  bullion 
produced  in  the  same  year.    The  staple  furnishes  one- 


18  With  the  Invader. 


fourth  of  the  amount  received  for  import  duties,  and 
the  demand  is  increasing  more  rapidly  than  our  popu- 
lation. Sugar  is  obtained  from  Cuba,  Porto  Rico,  the 
Sandwich  Islands  and  other  countries,  and  only  about 
twelve  per  cent  is  of  home  production. 

The  sugar  cane  and  beet  have  hitherto  furnished 
this  home  supply,  but  the  cane  is  subject  to  early  frosts 
and  is  seldom  fully  ripened,  even  in  the  semi-tropical 
Southern  States.  It  cannot  be  depended  on.  The 
sugar-beet  furnishes  thirty  per  cent,  of  the  sugar  con- 
sumed by  civilized  nations,  but  requires  special  soil 
and  fertilizers,  careful  cultivation  and  an  abundance  of 
rain,  which  must  come  at  a  certain  time.  The  Amer- 
ican beet-sugar  belt  is  confined  to  a  comparatively 
small  portion  of  certain  Northern  and  Middle  States, 
and  can  never  become  our  chief  dependence. 

Sorghum  is  a  plant  that  with  care  may  supply  not 
only  the  wants  of  this  country,  but  those  of  others.  It 
belongs  to  the  great  family  of  grasses,  and  is  nearly 
related  to  sugar  cane  and  Indian  corn.  The  first  Chi- 
nese sorghum — which  is  the  best  adapted  to  sugar  pro- 
duction— was  introduced  into  the  country  in  1853  from 
France.  During  the  civil  war  it  greatly  helped  to  sup- 
ply the  deficiency  in  our  sugar  imports,  and  in  Ohio 
and  Illinois  "sorghum-molasses"  was  made  in  large 
quantities.  In  1876  it  was  again  brought  into  notice 
by  the  Northwestern  farmers.  In  1878  it  was  experi- 
mented with  scientifically  by  Professor  Collier,  of  the 
Agricultural  Department,  who  continued  his  investiga- 


Romances  and  Realities  of  the  Southwest.         19 

tions  for  five  years.  His  conclusions,  stating  the  best 
varieties  of  sorghum  adapted  to  various  sections  of 
country,  the  amount  of  sugar  in  the  juice  of  matured 
plants,  the  length  of  the  period  during  which  the  juice 
contained  a  profitable  amount  of  available  sugar,  and 
the  height  and  weight  of  sorghum  at  each  stage  of  its 
development,  raised  at  once  an  interest  in  the  project 
of  making  the  plant  available. 

From  that  time  on  the  interest  in  the  question  has 
increased,  and  the  number  of  acres  planted  with  sor- 
ghum has  more  than  doubled.  Raising  sorghum  is 
now  an  important  industry. 

In  1883  Rio  Grande,  in  New  Jersey,  produced  282,- 
711  pounds  of  sugar  and  55,000  gallons  of  molasses, 
from  the  plant,  and  Champaign  (Illinois)  160,000 
pounds  of  sugar  and  40,000  gallons  of  molasses.  In 
the  same  year  48,271  acres  of  sorghum  in  Kansas 
yielded  447,859  tons  of  cane  and  4,684,023  gallons 
of  syrup,  valued  at  $2,058,127.60.  Of  the  102,042 
acres  planted,  53,771  were  for  forage  cane,  an  excel- 
lent diet  for  cattle. 

There  are  20,071,741  fruit  trees  in  Kansas,  and  in 
1883  the  sum  of  $11,988,801  was  invested  in  manufac- 
turing. The  product  of  the  mills  was  valued  at  $30,- 
249,360.  The  value  of  animals  slaughtered  and  sold 
for  slaughter  in  the  year  ending  March,  1884,  was 
$31,067,200.  In  1883  the  wool  clip  amounted  to 
3,774,915  pounds.  In  1884  there  were  1,206,297 
sheep  and  461,136  horses  in  the  State,  besides  1,500,- 


20  With  the   Invader. 


ooo  head  of  cattle.  Grass  is  luxuriant  and  nutritious, 
and  the  increase  in  live  stock  is  continuous.  Kansas 
is  a  stockman's  paradise,  and  in  late  years  there  has 
been  a  large  importation  of  liner  grades  of  cattle  than 
were  previously  known. 

The  State  is  also  a  rich  producer  of  coal,  lead,  zinc, 
salt  and  gypsum.  Veins  of  coal  have  been  discovered 
that  measure  from  three  to  four  feet  in  thickness,  and 
the  supply  is  practically  inexhaustible.  Salt  abounds 
in  large  quantities,  and  a  species  of  limestone  has  been 
found  that  is  particularly  well  adapted  for  building 
purposes. 

Kansas  originally  was  a  dry  country.  Away  from 
the  valleys,  watered  by  shallow  streams,  the  low  hills 
were  covered  with  short,  dry  grass,  and  it  was  supposed 
that  none  of  the  cereals  could  be  grown.  Now,  how- 
ever, water  has  been  found  at  a  depth  of  less  than  fifty 
feet  in  many  places,  and  every  year  the  farms  are 
being  pushed  farther  toward  the  west.  By  irrigation 
large  tracts  of  valuable  land  are  being  reclaimed.  Col- 
onies have  been  established  on  the  plains  in  rapid  suc- 
cession, and  though  the  average  rainfall  is  very  slight, 
farmers  do  not  suffer  from  drought.  At  the  present 
time  new  settlers  are  daily  arriving  from  abroad,  and  . 
are  purchasing  sections  of  land  belonging  to  the  Atch- 
ison road. 

Once  away  from  the  more  thickly  settled  parts  of 
Western  Kansas,  one  begins  to  notice  these  pioneers 
who  are  so  rapidly  reclaiming  the  boundless  plains.- 


Romances  and  Realities  of  the  Southwest.        21 


Their  houses  stand  grouped  about  the  simple  church, 
and  the  fields  are  freshly  broken.  Here  is  a  town  of 
industrious  Germans,  sure  of  success,  and  again  one 
hardly  knowing  whether  it  is  to  exist  or  not.  The 
questionable,  however,  of  last  year,  is  generally  the 
assured  of  the  year  to  come.  Talk  with  whomever  he 
may,  one  cannot  fail  to  find  hope  and  confidence  most 
generously  distributed.  For  those  who  have  lived 
abroad,  in  constraint  and  among  hardships,  Kansas  is 
an  El  Dorado.  It  gives  blessings  to  all  that  deserve. 
Once  doubted,  questioned  and  maligned,  it  to-day  has 
proved  its  worthiness,  and  is  reaping  the  reward  of 
actual  merit. 

It  has  been  said  that  traveling  across  the  plains  is 
monotonous.  To  the  many  it  may  be,  but  to  the  few 
at  least  the  journey  has  its  charm.  Beyond  the  town 
of  Coolidge,  near  the  western  boundary  of  Kansas,  the 
country  begins  to  lose  its  cultivation,  and  on  both  sides 
of  the  road  treeless  prairies  stretch  far  away  into  the 
distance.  The  view  of  the  horizon  is  unobstructed, 
and  between  it  and  the  observer  are  gentle  undulations, 
brown  and  bare,  over  which  roam  vast  herds  of  cattle, 
adding  materially  to  the  wealth  of  the  State. 

There  is  a  stillness  lingering  about  the  motionless 
billows  of  earth  and  a  freshness  to  the  breezes  blowing 
so  strongly  that  is  most  exhilarating.  One  gains  a  rest 
of  body  and  of  mind.  He  has  time  for  reflection  and 
for  meditation.  Stopping  at  a  station,  with  only  the 
undulating  wastes  in  sight,  the  wind  whistles  around 


22  With  the  Invader. 


the  car  with  the  musical  cadence  with  which  it  blows 
through  the  rigging  of  a  ship  at  sea.  There  is  the 
same  sense  of  isolation  experienced  as  when  upon  the 
ocean.  One  notices  every  passing  object;  it  may  be 
a  herder  on  his  horse,  or  a  dugout,  or  a  coyote,  or  a 
group  of  prairie  dogs;  or  possibly  the  train  may  run 
past  a  herd  of  cattle,  or  a  flock  of  sheep,  or  up  to  a 
red-roofed  station-house,  where  roughly-clad  men  are 
lounging,  waiting  to  see  if  a  passenger  stops  at  their 
new  home  in  the  West. 

As  daylight  begins  to  fade  and  the  shadows  of  eve- 
ning come  creeping  slowly  over  the  quiet  region,  the 
last  golden  rays  of  the  setting  sun  flood  the  grasses 
and  tip  the  low  hill-tops  with  golden  hues,  while  the 
sky  has  an  intensified  coloring  added  to  it,  and  high 
above  are  arrows  of  brilliant  light  shining  upon  the 
toiling  train  and  the  broad,  flat  acres.  Later,  when 
the  lamps  are  lighted,  one  knows  that  out  in  the  inky 
darkness  the  feeding  herds  of  the  land  stand,  wonder- 
ing what  strange  being  of  moving  lights  it  is  that  goes 
shrieking  over  their  long-neglected  country. 

The  entrance  of  the  Atchison  road  into  New  Mexico 
is  by  a  pass  over  the  Raton  Mountains.  Leaving  La 
Junta,  in  Colorado,  and  passing  almost  due  south,  over 
the  famous  grazing  lands  extending  eastward  from  the 
base  of  Pike's  Peak,  the  range  which  divides  Colorado 
from  New  Mexico  is  encountered. 

In  one  direction  stretch  the  prairies,  while  beyond 
them,  toward  the  west,  £re  seen  the  snow-capped  sum- 


Romance  and  Realities  of  the  Southwest.        23 

mits  and  the  deep-blue  sides  of  the  Rockies,  lifting 
themselves  skyward  like  a  wall  of  defiance  to  further 
progress  in  that  direction.  High  above  all  its  fellows, 
and  whitest  of  all  its  neighbors,  is  Pike's  Peak,  that 
landmark  of  '59,  toward  which  so  many  adventurous 
pioneers  drove  their  canvas-covered  wagons  when  the 
Colorado  excitement  was  at  its  height. 

It  is  a  grand  old  picture,  this  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains, full  of  bold  outlines  and  changing  colors,  and 
one  gains  an  idea,  at  least,  of  what  the  ruggedness 
there  is  like  as  he  begins  the  ascent  of  the  Raton  hills, 
with  their  deep  canons  and  frowning  heights  and  bared 
rocks  hanging  over  the  passing  train. 

When  the  Atchison  road  was  first  constructed  it 
climbed  over  the  Raton  range  by  switching  back  and 
forth  up  the  steep  grades  which  had  to  be  overcome. 
During  the  last  few  years,  however,  a  tunnel  has  been 
driven  through  the  crest  of  the  mountains,  that  lessens 
the  grades,  and  one  is  plunged  into  this,  after  being 
pushed  and  pulled  by  two  heavy  engines  to  it,  before 
the  northern  slope  of  the  range  is  overcome  and  New 
Mexico  is  entered. 


CHAPTER  II. 

To  the  Pueblo  Stronghold. 

|\TORTHERN  New  Mexico  is  a  region  of  plains, 
*  covered  with  immense  herds  of  cattle,  ranches, 

and  sheep.  The  southern  part  of  the  Territory  is  a 
land  of  mountains,  mines,  secluded  valleys,  and  wa- 
tered basins  that  have  a  semi-tropic  climate.  In  the 
north  the  conversation  of  the  residents  is  of  cattle;  in 
the  south,  of  mines.  Crawling  carefully  down  the 
Raton  Range  into  this  old-new  country,  the  trackless 
prairies  are  seen  extending  to  a  measureless  distance  in 
the  east,  and  westward  to  where  a  ridge  of  mountains 
has  been  forced  out  of  the  flat  levels. 

In  the  south  lies  the  territory  of  promise  and  of 
late  fulfillments.  With  an  average  breadth  of  335 
miles,  and  containing  121,200  square  miles,  the  coun- 
try, which  saw  its  first  European  in  1530,  reveals  its 
attractions  long  before  the  Raton  Range  begins  to 
fade  from  sight.  From  the  town  of  Raton,  the  centre 
of  the  rich  coal  deposits  of  Colfax  county,  to  Las 
Vegas,  one  of  the  important  stations  of  the  Santa  Fd 
Trail,  the  railway  has  hardly  an  obstacle  to  overcome, 
and  there  is  but  little  variety  to  the  topography  of  the 


To  tlu-  Pueblo  Stronghold.  25 

country.  Except  the  mountains,  extending  along  the 
western  borders  of  the  Territory,  there  is  not  a  hill  in 
sight.  High  over  the  cattle-dotted  plains,  with  their 
varying  hues  of  brown,  red  and  green,  arches  the  deep 
blue  sky,  rivaling  in  splendor  even  that  of  Italy,  and 
breezes,  strong  and  invigorating,  giv£  one  vitality  to 
enjoy  the  novel  scenes. 

The  elevation  of  Northern  New  Mexico  is  6000 
feet — a  height  that  gives  clearness  and  freshness  to  the 
air.  Let  the  sun  shine  with  what  lustre  it  will,  one 
rarely  experiences  discomfort  in  the  shade.  Gazing 
across  a  stretch  of  fifty  miles  to  distant  heights,  there 
seems  but  half  that  intervening  space.  The  clearness 
of  the  atmosphere  destroys  distance.  As  for  the  col- 
orings nature  is  bedecked  with,  one  must  see  New 
Mexico  to  appreciate  them.  There  is  a  mellowness 
and  richness  which  cannot  be  described.  Even  the 
faintest  hues  grow  intensified  in  the  strong  light,  yet 
never  become  glaring.  The  first  glimpse  of  Spanish- 
America  had  in  the  ride  southward  toward  Las  Vegas 
is  not  one  of  disappointment.  That  which  was  ex- 
pected is  present.  Vast,  curious,  mystical  and  bril- 
liant, the  broad  levels  lead  one  on  to  that  which  is 
stranger  and  more  interesting  still. 

New  Mexico  is  very  rich.  Not  only  are  its  mines 
productive,  the  value  of  their  yield  for  1882  being 
nearly  $4,000,000,  but  within  its  borders  arc  more 
than  10,000,000  sheep  and  700,000  head  of  cattle. 
The  wool  clip  for  1882  was  30,000,000  pounds.    There 


26  With  the  Invader. 


are  still  20,000,000  acres  of  land  which  can  be  irrigated, 
and  whose  productiveness  is  unquestioned.  Sections 
of  the  Rio  Grande  Valley  have  been  cultivated  for 
two  hundred  years  without  the  aid  of  fertilizers. 

Eighty  bushels  of  corn  and  fifty  bushels  of  wheat  to 
the  acre,  are  ojily  average  crops.  There  are  to-day 
more  than  2000  farms  in  the  Territory  that  cover  an 
area  of  450,000  acres.  Fruit  growing  is  becoming  an 
important  industry.  The  grapes,  apples  and  pears 
raised  in  the  Rio  Grande  Valley  are  easily  grown,  and 
find  ready  markets  in  the  East.  It  is  estimated  that 
enough  fruit  can  be  grown  in  the  south  to  supply  a 
large  proportion  of  the  Eastern  cities.  The  soil  of  the 
country  is  good,  and  the  Rio  Grande  Valley  is  grow- 
ing every  year  more  populous  and  better  cultivated. 
The  Indians  inhabiting  it  have  never  suffered  from  the 
lack  of  fruits,  and  to-day  their  orchards  may  be  seen 
lining  the  banks  of  the  river  as  far  north  as  Taos,  fifty 
miles  above  Santa  Fe. 

Agriculture,  fruit  growing,  dairy  farming  and  other 
like  industries,  however,  are  still  in  their  infancy,  and 
the  region  at  present  depends  almost  entirely  for  its 
reputation  on  its  mines  and  grazing  lands.  As  a  min- 
eral producer  and  field  for  stock  raising,  it  has  few 
equals.  With  a  climate  of  such  exceeding  mildness  that 
there  is  practically  no  winter,  and  with  an  abundance 
of  room  and  water,  New  Mexico  will  easily  maintain 
its  position.  Millions  of  dollars  are  already  invested 
and  the  capital  employed  is  yearly  being  added  to. 


To  the  Pueblo  Stronghold.  2J 

Many  ranges,  owned  by  stock  companies  and  by 
individuals,  contain  from  10,000  to  250,000  acres. 
Formerly  the  largest  ranch  was  "Maxwell's."  It  com- 
prised 2,000,000  acres,  and  a  part  of  it  was  sold  by 
Maxwell  for  $1,000,000  to  a  company  of  Holland 
capitalists.  They  sent  over  an  agent  to  examine  the 
property,  who  reported  that  the  land  was  covered  with 
squatters  whom  it  would  be  difficult  to  remove.  Later 
a  young  man  named  Sherwin  organized  a  corporation 
known  as  the  "Maxwell  Grant  Company,"  to  which 
the  Holland  capitalists  gave  a  deed  of  their  property, 
taking  a  part  of  the  stock  in  the  new  concern  in  pay- 
ment. The  other  shares  were  sold  in  this  country  to 
several  prominent  men  in  Chicago  and  the  East. 

Sherwin  was  chosen  manager,  and  built  himself  a 
magnificent  house  near  the  town  of  Springer,  a  few 
miles  north  of  Las  Vegas.  Immense  sums  of  money 
were  spent  on  his  castle-like  dwelling,  and  he  lived  like 
a  prince.  A  year  ago  he  was  arrested  by  the  Dutchmen 
on  a  charge  of  swindling  them,  and  has  only  lately 
been  released.  What  effect  his  troubles  will  have  can- 
not be  told  now,  but  it  is  hardly  possible  that  the  prop- 
erty will  ever  be  divided.  It  is  of  great  value  and 
contains  almost  priceless  water  rights. 

Near  Springer  there  may  be  seen  across  the  plains 
to  the  east  of  the  railway  the  home  of  Dorsey,  of  Star 
Route  fame.  He  at  one  time  owned  his  vast  ranch 
lands  alone,  but  the  expenses  of  his  trial  so  beriously 
crippled  his  purse  as  to  oblige  him  to  form  a  stock 


28  With  the  Invader. 


company  to  hold  his  possessions.  He  has  now  asso- 
ciated with  himself  in  a  company  that  has  over 
$1,000,000  capital  his  former  counsel,  Robert  G.  In- 
gersoll,  and  John  B.  Alley,  a  retired  leather  dealer  of 
Boston.  Dorsey  is  the  only  one  of  the  three  living  on 
the  ranch.  He  has  erected  a  house  which  has  every 
conceivable  comfort,  and  at  which  he  entertains  with 
lavish  hospitality.  Ingersoll  is  to  build  himself  a 
home  near  by.  And  if  many  more  men  of  money 
and  mark  adopt  New  Mexico,  the  Territory  will  be- 
come the  rich  man's  paradise,  rather  than  the  cow- 
boy's pasture. 

Besides  these  more  famous  ranches,  there  are  many 
smaller  grants  which  still  contain  their  Mexican  settlers 
and  original  towns.  A  ranch  near  Las  Vegas  con- 
tains a  village  of  several  hundred  inhabitants,  church, 
school  house  and  scattered  adobe  dwellings.  Riding 
across  these  several  properties,  which  in  most  in- 
stances have  no  visible  dividing  line  between  them, 
there  may  still  be  seen  the  humble  homes  of  the  Mexi- 
cans whose  houses,  contrasted  with  those  lately  erected 
by  the  Americans,  are  most  humble.  Built  of  sun- 
dried  clay,  known  as  adobe,  and  consisting  usually  of 
but  one  room,  serving  the  purposes  of  a  numerous  family 
without  regard  to  sex,  they  are  browned  by  the  sun  of 
the  years,  and  lie  scattered  over  the  broad  fields  like 
dog  kennels  in  a  pasture.  Round  about  them  stretch 
the  prairies,  so  lately  without  price  and  now  so  valua-  . 
ble,  and  near  them  runs  the  railway,  bringing  its  new 


To  the  Pueblo  Stronghold.  2Q 

life  into  the  region  and  disturbing  the  listless  quiet 
that  formerly  reigned. 

There  has  been  much  written  about  ranching,  and 
many  alluring  figures  given.  Sifting  the  statements 
for  facts,  enough  is  now  known  to  warrant  the  asser- 
tion that  the  business  of  cattle  and  sheep  raising  is 
usually  one  of  great  profits  and  quick  returns.  Not 
only  is  there  at  all  times  a  market  for  hides,  wool  and 
pelts,  but  the  increase  in  stock  is  enormous. 

One  must,  however,  calculate  upon  diseases,  inclem- 
ency of  weather,  low  prices,  taxes,  labor  and  other 
losses  and  expenses.  There  must  also  be  had  sufficient 
capital.  Profits  do  not  come  at  once.  At  present  the 
best  lands  are  well  occupied,  and  water  privileges, 
without  which  ranges  are  of  little  use,  are  scarce. 

The  question  of  water  was  once  much  more  import- 
ant than  now.  One  acre  with  a  spring  was  worth  more 
than  a  thousand  without.  It  was  feared  that  there 
might  be  a  lack  of  water,  and  the  question  of  adequate 
supply  was  only  answered  when  it  was  found  that 
wells  could  be  dug  capable  of  supplying  any  need.  It 
is  now  believed  that  the  plains,  hitherto  regarded  use- 
less, may  be  rendered  valuable  by  artesian  wells.  If 
this  be  true,  New  Mexico  will  have  many  arable  acres 
added  to  it,  and  there  will  be  a  large  increase  in  the 
number  of  small  farms  and  ranches  suitable  for  raising 
fancy  stock  and  to  use  as  dairy  farms. 

The  farther  one  goes  into  New  Mexico,  the  more 
numerous  are  the  objects  which  have  an  interesting 


jo  With  the  Invader. 


history  and  association.  In  populating  their  country 
the  first  inhabitants  did  but  little  to  give  an  historical 
attractiveness  to  the  north.  Their  largest  settlements, 
battles  and  mines  were  all  in  the  south.  Kansas,  Col- 
orado and  Northern  New  Mexico  have  between  them 
hardly  one  object  which  is  ancient  or  interesting.  Nor 
have  the  later  comers,  unless  an  exception  is  made  in 
favor  of  the  Santa  Fe  Trail  scouts,  woven  a  web  of 
attractiveness  about  the  region.  From  Kansas  City  to 
within  a  short  distance  of  Las  Vegas  only  the  new  and 
the  achievements  of  the  present  are  the  salient  features. 

But  once  over  the  plains,  and  gradually  nearing  the 
central  portion  of  the  Territory,  the  past  begins  to 
reflect  itself  in  the  present,  and  in  various  directions 
there  are  objects  discernible  which  have  a  romantic 
and  interesting  history.  A  few  miles  south  of  Springer 
the  railroad  approaches  nearer  the  western  range  of 
mountains,  followed  from  Raton,  and  the  country  be- 
gins to  have  its  hitherto  flat  surface  broken  by  isolated 
hills  extending  into  the  plains  from  the  ridge  beyond. 

Two  of  the  most  conspicuous  of  these  treeless  ele- 
vations, which  are  blue  in  the  distance,  but  dull  brown 
on  nearer  investigation,  give  to  a  small  station  the  pe- 
culiar name  of  Wagon  Mound.  It  was  during  the  days 
of  the  Santa  Fe  Trail,  as  the  story  is  told,  that  near 
here  the  Indians,  always  ready  to  dispute  the  passage 
of  traders'  wagons,  attacked  a  train  of  emigrants.  Lying 
in  ambush,  and,  making  a  sudden  and  sharp  onslaught 
upon  their  enemies,  they  murdered  all  the  people, 


To  tin-  Pueblo  Stronghold. 


3* 


stole  the  stock  and  piled  the  wagons  in  a  broken  heap 
upon  the  crest  of  one  of  the  flat-browed  hills. 


PUEBLO  OF  TAOS. 


Fifty  miles  west  from  Wagon  Mound,  and  reached 
by  stage,  is  the  town  of  Taos,  a  typical  Mexican  village, 
occupying  the  head  of  Taos  Valley,  one  of  the  best 
watered  and  most  prolific  producing  sections  of  North- 
ern New  Mexico.  It  has  long  enjoyed  a  life  of  ex- 
treme simplicity  and  laziness.  Whatever  its  past  popu- 
lation was — and  Taos  was  once  a  city  of  importance — 
it  has  now  but  few  inhabitants,  and  these  pay  but  little 
heed  to  the  affairs  of  the  outside  world,  from  which 
they  are  so  isolated.     From  the  plaza  of  the  village, 


32  With  the  Invader: 

with  its  weed-grown  walks  and  deserted  air,  narrow 
streets  lead  out  among  flat-roofed  adobe  houses,  and 
beyond  them  may  be  seen  the  mountains  which  sur- 
round and  protect  the  valley. 

In  the  little  cemetery  of  Taos,  occupying  a  bit  of 
ground  just  beyond  the  town  limits,  Kit  Carson  is 
buried.  The  man  who  rarely  knew  a  peaceful  day  has 
chosen  a  quiet  resting  place.  Except  the  rustling  of 
the  sun-baked  grasses  growing  over  his  grave  there 
is  an  utter  stillness  about  the  spot.  Round  about 
one  stretches  the  fertile  valley  filled  with  soft  shad- 
ows and  overlooked  by  snow-capped  peaks,  while  a 
few  miles  to  the  north  stand  the  castle-like  mounds 
which  have  been  for  centuries  the  home  of  the  Pu- 
eblo Indians. 

The  Pueblos  of  Taos,  two  miles  outside  the  town, 
are  very  old.  They  were  discovered  by  Coronado  in 
1540,  and  since  that  date  have  changed  but  little  in 
general  appearance.  Resembling  from  a  distance  two 
feudal  castles,  they  are  in  reality  a  collection  of  adobe 
houses  piled  one  on  top  of  the  other  in  promiscuous 
heaps,  each  having  a  height  of  not  less  than  forty 
feet.  In  its  earlier  days  the  village  was  surrounded 
by  a  high  adobe  wall.  This  has  fallen  to  the  ground, 
however,  and  only  odd,  crumbling  portions  of  it  re- 
main. 

Between  the  two  mounds  runs  Taos  Creek,  coming 
down  from  the  neighboring  mountains  and  flowing 
through  a  grove  of  cottonwoods,  which  are  resorted  to 


To  the  Pueblo  Stronghold.  jj 

by  the  Indians  of  the  town.  Sitting  in  the  cool  shade  of 
these  trees  and  by  the  side  of  the  loudly  murmuring 
brook,  a  picture  is  formed  by  the  Pueblos  which  can 
never  be  forgotten.  Far  away  is  a  deep  blue  sky,  cloud- 
less  and  brilliant,  and  through  an  opening  in  the  trees 
forming  a  rustic  frame,  are  the  two  brown  castles,  out- 
lined against  the  heavens,  and  often  having  a  gaily 
dressed  inhabitant  seated  on  the  roof  of  his  home  and 
lending  a  bit  of  gaudy  coloring  to  the  scene.  Past  one 
go  the  people  of  the  strange  village,  dressed  in  their 
primitive  costumes  and  attending  to  their  simple  duties, 
who  recall  with  vividness  that  romantic  past  when  the 
tribe  had  a  power,  long  since  lost,  and  when  the  Pueb- 
los had  double  their  present  population  of  a  thousand 
people. 

A  peculiarity  of  the  architecture  of  Taos  is  that 
entrance  to  all  the  houses  is  by  ladders  leading  to  the 
different  roofs  and  thence  into  the  interiors.  What 
light  there  is  in  the  small,  clean  homes  comes  through 
round  holes  cut  in  the  walls,  and  the  piazza  of  one 
family  is  the  roof  of  another.  There  is  no  attempt  at 
order  in  the  way  the  houses  are  piled  together.  'A  child 
could  not  construct  with  his  blocks  more  irregular 
piles  than  are  these  of  Taos,  and  the  two  mounds  are 
full  of  angles  and  irregular  lines,  while  the  people, 
climbing  their  ladders  and  diving  in  and  out  the  top 
doorways  leading  to  their  homes,  give  one  the  impres- 
sion that  the  pueblos  are  villages  inhabited  by  swal- 
lows. 


34  With  the  Invader. 


The  agility  with  which  the  old  and  young  climb  the 
peculiar  stairways  is  something  most  astonishing.  The 
ladders  are  old  and  shaky,  but  such  condition  does 
not  deter  the  youngest  and  strongest  nor  the  oldest  and 
weakest  from  going  up  and  down  them  with  frightful 
rapidity.  The  women,  who  do  most  of  the  hard  work, 
crawl  to  their  house-tops  laden  with  heavy  jars  of  water 
or  earthen  dishes  filled  with  corn,  and  never  make  a 
false  step,  and  as  for  the  children  they  run  up  and 
down  the  rounds  and  hardly  touch  their  hands  to  the 
ladders  in  going  either  way. 

The  people  of  Taos  are  quiet,  industrious  and  thrif- 
ty. They  till  the  lands  which  they  own  and  raise 
large  numbers  of  sheep,  cattle  and  goats.  The  great 
festal  day  is  on  the  30th  of  September,  when  the  grand 
fete  of  the  year  is  celebrated.  Songs  are  sung,  games 
are  played,  and  sheep  are  slaughtered.  Everybody 
eats  until  there  is  no  longer  stomach  accommodation 
for  more,  and  the  men  of  the  tribe  run  races  over  the 
plaza  between  the  two  pueblos.  The  bodies  of  the 
racers  are  naked  and  painted  in  varying  colors,  and 
the  house-tops  are  covered  with  invited  guests  from 
other  villages,  who  group  themselves  in  picturesque 
masses  wherever  standing  room  is  offered. 

The  surface  of  New  Mexico  is  diversified,  and  is 
covered  with  table-lands,  mountains  and  valleys.  The 
table-lands  rise  one  above  the  other  in  sharp  terraces, 
and  range  in  altitude  from  5000  feet,  in  the  south  and 
east,  to  7500  feet  in  the  north  and  northwest.     Out  of 


To  the  Pueblo  Stronghold.  25 

the  table-lands  rise  lofty  mountains  with  heights  vary- 
ing from  10,000  to  12,000  feet.  From  the  mountains 
canons  and  valleys  cut  their  way  through  the  table-lands 
toward  the  far  off  sea. 

Elevated  above  the  country  sufficiently  to  obtain  a 
bird's-eye  view  of  it,  one  would  see  what  a  net-work  of 
mountain  chains  and  isolated  spurs  there  is.  Coming 
down  from  the  snow-capped  peaks  of  Colorado,  two 
extensions  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  system  reach  their 
long  arms  into  New  Mexico,  and  south  of  where  they 
end  rise  detached  formations,  which  may  be  traced  as 
far  as  Texas  and  old  Mexico. 

At  Las  Vegas  the  Atchison  Road  begins  to  meet  the 
heights  that  have  to  be  overcome  before  the  southern 
parts  of  the  Territory  are  reached.  Las  Vegas  itself 
is  one  of  the  oldest  towns  in  Northern  New  Mexico. 
There  is  the  old  Las  Vegas,  which  grew  into  promi- 
nece  during  the  Santa  Fe  Trail  days,  and  the  new  Las 
Vegas,  created  by  the  railway.  Strictly  speaking,  the 
old  town  is  the  more  picturesque  of  the  two,  but  even 
it  has  only  a  moderate  number  of  attractions.  Essen- 
tially Spanish  in  its  architecture,  the  adobe  houses  are 
scattered  over  the  meadows,  on  which  the  city  stands, 
in  confused  disorder,  and  in  their  midst  is  the  inevita- 
ble plaza,  sure  to  be  found  in  every  Mexican  village. 

If  it  were  not  that  its  neighbors  are  more  pleasing, 
Las  Vegas  might  attract  more  attention  than  it  does. 
But  rivals  have  robbed  it  of  its  past  glory  and  impor- 
tance as  well  as  distanced  it  in  population,  and  to-day 


j6  With  the  Invader. 


it  is  the  new  town,  standing  opposite  the  old  on  the 
right  bank  of  the  Gallinas  river,  which  is  commonly 
meant  when  Las  Vegas  is  spoken  of. 

The  late  arrival  is  very  new,  plain,  and  conventional. 
Differing  but  little  from  the  villages  of  New  England, 
but  utterly  lacking  the  quiet  of  those  tree-embowered 
towns,  it  has  scores  of  uncouth  wooden  houses  hope- 
lessly huddled  together  and  reflecting  the  hot  sunlight 
from  perspiring  shingles.  But  the  place  is  a  busy  one, 
and  its  trade  as  a  supply  town  for  the  neighboring 
country  is  large. 

Six  miles  west  of  Las  Vegas  are  the  Hot  Springs,  to 
which  extends  a  branch  of  the  Atchison  Road,  and 
where  a  hotel  is  being  erected  that  will  have  no  supe- 
rior and  hardly  an  equal  in  the  West.  The  "  Monte- 
zuma," as  it  is  to  be  called,  in  honor  of  the  Aztec 
mythological  god,  whose  children  were  the  first  discov- 
erers of  the  Springs,  will  cost  over  $150,000  and  afford 
every  luxury.  Its  many  comforts,  together  with  the 
extended  view  which  it  commands  of  the  mountains 
near  by  and  of  the  plains  stretching  toward  the  east, 
will  be  sufficient  inducements  to  render  it  a  favorite 
resort. 

The  Hot  Springs  have  long  enjoyed  deserved  popu- 
larity because  of  their  medicinal  qualities.  There  are 
forty  in  all,  and  an  analysis  of  three  of  them  gives  the 
following  table  : 


To  the  Pueblo  Stronghold.  37 


Constituents.                           Spring  No.  i.  No.  2.  No.  3. 

Sodium  Carbonate 1-72  l-*7  5-°° 

Calcium  Carbonate,       \                                I0g  IO  ^  II-43 
Magnesium  Carbonate,  J  "  " 

Sodium  Sulphate 14-12  15-43  i6-21 

Sodium  Chloride 27.26  24.37  27.34 

Potassium Trace.  Trace.  Trace. 

Lithium Strong  Trace.  St'g  Tr.  St'g  Tr. 

Silicic  Acid i-°4  Trace.  2Sl 

Iodine Trace.  Trace.  Trace. 

Bromine  .'.'■' Trace.  Trace.  Trace. 

Temperature 130°  F.  I23'  F-  I23°  F. 

As  often  as  a  new  spring  is  discovered  it  is  curbed 
with  red  and  white  granite  from  the  bluffs  bordering 
the  river  and  a  rustic  bower  is  built  over  it  in  which 
one  may  sit  and  drink  of  the  highly  charged  waters 
which  bubble  from  the  earth. 

The  Gallinas  canon,  containing  the  springs,  opens  out 
from  the  foothills  of  the  main  range,  and  has  a  roman- 
tic beauty  peculiarly  inviting.  Beyond  the  mouth  of 
the  narrow  ravine,  from  which  the  river  tumbles  over 
a  rock-strewn  bed,  lies  the  little  plateau  of  thirty  acres 
on  which  are  the  hotel,  the  bath  houses  and  several 
cottages.  Gathered  around  this,  and  enclosing  it  on 
three  sides,  are  brown  hills  with  clinging  vines  and 
hardy  shrubs,  while  through  a  narrow  opening,  by 
which  the  railway  reaches  the  region,  a  long  extended 
vista  is  obtained  of  the  country  reaching  like  an  ocean 
far  away  to  the  blue  horizon  in  the  east.  Still,  richly 
colored  and  wide,  the  prairies  from  such  a  height  are 
imbued  with  a  new  interest  and  beauty.  At  times 
there  are  swiftly  moving  cloud  patches  dotting  them, 


:U5.'$7I 


j8  With  the  Invader: 


and  again  they  are  like  the  unruffled  surface  of  a  sea, 
and  canvas-covered  wagons,  white  in  the  sunlight,  go 
slowly  along  their  way  as  one  sees  full-rigged  ships, 
from  some  rocky  coast,  sailing  from  port  to  port. 
There  is  no  movement  to  these  earth  billows,  and 
no  soft,  strong  murmur  comes  from  them  as  they 
touch  the  ridges  rising  from  their  bosom.  All  is  in- 
animate, hushed  and  dead. 

Early  in  the  present  century  the  springs  were  relig- 
iously guarded  night  and  day  by  the  Indians  of  the 
country,  who  allowed  only  a  favored  few  to  bathe  in 
and  drink  of  the  waters.  In  1846  an  adobe  bath 
house  was  erected  and  a  hospital  established  by  the 
United  States  Army.  In  1862  General  Canby  occu- 
pied the  quarters,  and  the  old  building  was  afterwards 
used  as  a  hotel  until  1879,  when  the  present  house, 
near  the  "  Montezuma,"  was  built. 

The  bath  house  is  new  and  commodious.  Built  of 
native  red  granite,  and  two  stories  high,  it  is  200  feet 
long  by  42  feet  wide.  The  upper  floor  is  occupied  as 
offices  and  the  bath  rooms  are  below.  The  daily 
capacity  of  the  house  is  500  baths  of  every  variety — 
medicated,  electric,  vapor,  tub,  spray,  mud  and  shower. 
Experienced  attendants  are  always  present,  and  many 
remarkable  cures  have  been  effected.  All  skin  dis- 
eases and  rheumatism  and  stomach  difficulties  are  es- 
pecially benefited,  and  the  climate  is  such  that  those 
suffering  from  pulmonary  and  miasmatic  troubles  ob- 
tain great  relief. 


To  tin-  Pueblo  Stronghold.  39 


Below  Las  Vegas  begins  the  real  work  of  reaching 
the  South.  The  mountains,  which  must  be  crossed  or 
overcome  in  some  manner  before  Santa  Fe  and  the 
Rio  Grande  Valley  are  entered,  begin  to  assert  their 
power.  There  is  hardly  a  mile  where  the  railroad 
track  is  straight.  Its  course  is  that  of  a  serpent's— full 
of  twists  and  turns — and  the  grades  are  heavy  and 
numerous.  Climbing  over  high  mesas,  penetrating 
deep  canons,  and  winding  through  forests  of  pine, 
pinon  and  oak,  the  invader  of  the  historic  country 
reaches  its  strong  arm  into  the  fastnesses  of  the  range 
and  offers  constantly  changing  views  of  varied  attrac- 
tiveness. 

There  is  rugged  grandeur  everywhere.  Here  a 
rocky  pinnacle  rears  itself  high  above  the  passing  train, 
and  there,  far  beyond  the  deep  green  tops  of  some 
long  neglected  forest,  appear  the  whitened  summits  of 
distant  hills  clearly  outlined  against  the  deep  blue  sky. 
The  rule  of  nature  is  absolute.  Trees  lie  where  they 
fell,  streams  run  unmolested  down  rocky  channels, 
the  woods  are  full  of  game,  and  only  some  boulder, 
hurled  from  its  resting  place  by  the  frosts  of  winter, 
and  tearing  a  pathway  for  itself  down  the  mountain 
side,  has  disturbed  the  natural  growth  of  the  countless 
trees  and  shrubs. 

Compared  with  the  unvarying  monotony  of  the 
plains,  the  constant  change  in  the  vistas  offered  by  the 
mountains  is  most  welcome.  There  is  ever  something 
new,  fresh  and  entertaining.     The  air  is  laden  with 


^o  With  the  Invader. 


sweet  perfume,  and  the  colorings  are  so  rich  a  hue  that, 
were  they  painted,  the  artist  would  be  accused  of  ex- 
aggeration. Here  the  rocks  are  a  brilliant  red,  here  a 
mellow  yellow,  and  there  a  grayish  white.  Near  hills 
are  brown,  and  distant  ones  deep  blue.  There,  drifts 
of  snow  lie  white  upon  the  peaks,  and  reaching  to 
where  they  are,  grow  dark  green  trees.  It  is  a  novel 
combination,  and  every  hue,  no  matter  how  slight, 
has  the  clear  sky  and  the  strong,  warm  sunlight  to 
heighten  its  effect. 

One  of  the  most  noted  landmarks  on  the  road  be- 
tween Las  Vegas  and  Santa  Fe  is  Starvation  Peak. 
The  flat-topped  hill  rises  high  above  its  neighbors  and 
is  visible  long  before  reached,  and  for  hours  after  it  is 
passed.  On  its  crest  is  a  wooden  cross,  and  around 
its  base  grow  tall  pines,  above  which  the  peak  looks 
out  upon  a  wilderness  of  mountains,  canons  and  foam- 
ing streams. 

The  weather-beaten  cross  recalls  the  fearful  suffer- 
ing of  departed  days.  In  1837,  during  a  war  between 
Mexicans  and  Indians,  the  latter  invited  their  enemies 
to  a  council  at  the  top  of  the  peak.  It  being  mutually 
agreed  that  all  arms  should  be  left  in  camp,  the  Mexi- 
cans met  their  tricky  foes  on  the  height  and  a  council 
was  held  with  every  evidence  of  good  faith.  But  during 
the  meeting  the  Indians  slowly  brought  up  their  weap- 
ons, and,  at  a  given  signal,  gave  a  startling  war  cry,  swept 
down  upon  the  Mexican  camp  in  the  valley  and  mur- 
dered in  cold  blood  the  startled  people  who  were  there. 


To  the  Pueblo  Stronghold.  41 

Finishing  that  work,  they  surrounded  the  peak  and 
waited  with  grim  delight  for  starvation  to  do  its  work. 
The  Mexicans  on  the  summit  were  utterly  defenseless, 
and  had  but  the  alternative  of  descending  to  certain 
death,  or  remaining  where  they  were,  without  food  or 
fire,  until  death  should  relieve  them  of  their  misery. 
They  chose  the  latter  fate,  and  when  the  war  was  over, 
their  bones  were  found  whitening  upon  the  mountain 
top  which  to-day  bears  its  singular  and  suggestive 
name. 

Below  Starvation  Peak  the  railway  follows  the  crest 
of  a  narrow  forest-covered  ridge.  At  the  right  of  the 
elevation,  which  has  a  gentle  slope  into  a  valley  wa- 
tered by  the  river  Pecos,  stand  the  ruins  of  the  old 
Pecos  church  and  of  the  village  of  Pecos,  which  a  hun- 
dred years  ago  was  one  of  the  largest  Pueblos  in  New 
Mexico. 

Seen  from  the  railway,  the  church  seems  the  only 
object  having  so  much  as  a  wall  remaining,  for  the  red- 
hued  stones  of  the  houses  are  scattered  over  the 
ground,  and  trees  are  growing  over  the  historic  spot. 
In  a  few  years  the  ancient  village  will  become  obliter- 
ated, and  when  even  the  church  lies  prone,  and  no 
traces  of  the  houses  can  be  seen,  there  will  have  been 
destroyed  one  of  the  most  interesting  ruins  in  the  Ter- 
ritory. For  Pecos  Pueblo  was  undoubtedly  one  of 
the  seven  cities  which  tempted  Coronado  to  journey 
into  the  North  more  than  three  hundred  years  ago, 
and  was,  if  tradition  is  reliable,  the  place  in  which  the 


42  With  the  Invader: 

sacred  flame  of  Montezuma  burned  for  so  many  centu- 
ries prior  to  its  removal  to  Taos. 

The  legend  of  Montezuma  declares  that  the  father 
of  the  Aztecs  was  born  at  Pecos,  and  lived  there  until 
an  eagle  bore  him  away  to  distant  lands  and  from  the 
sight  of  those  who  have,  and  whose  children  have, 
watched  ever  since  for  his  coming  again  with  "glory 
from  the  east "  and  laden  with  "  blessings  and  with 
power."  The  faith  that  Montezuma  will  return  has 
never  once  been  shaken  through  all  the  centuries  of 
suffering  and  disappointment.  The  priests  stand  upon 
the  house  tops  to-day  as  they  did  in  the  ages  past, 
shading  their  eyes  with  their  hands,  and  gazing  toward 
the  east,  hoping  to  see  their  Redeemer  coming.  The 
fire  which  Montezuma  lighted  on  the  old  altar  at  Pe- 
cos burns  in  a  guarded  shrine  at  Taos,  and  Pecos  is 
the  Mecca  of  the  scattered  tribes. 

The  town  is  in  ruins,  and  deserted.  Vandal  hands 
have  stolen  its  treasures  and  a  new  civilization  is  press- 
ing upon  its  crumbling  stones.  Silence  reigns  down 
by  the  passing  stream  and  the  emperor  of  the  past  has 
become  a  shadowy  unreality.  Yet  still  the  people 
hope  and  trust  and  believe  implicitly  that  the  great 
cities  of  the  South  and  the  various  Pueblos  of  the 
North  are  standing  now  on  those  places  where  Monte- 
zuma and  his  eagle  rested  in  their  long  flight  from  the 
village  by  the  Pecos  River. 

Given  an  energetic  population,  and  the  Pecos  Val- 
ley would  long  ago  have  become  a  veritable  garden. 


To  tlie  Pueblo  Stronghold.  43 

Protected,  fertile,  well  watered  and  beautiful,  it  seems 
to  wait  the  era  of  improvement  with  open  arms.  In 
the  stream  are  many  fish,  and  game  abounds  in  the 
forests.  The  region  is  the  sportsman's  paradise.  Nor 
need  the  artist  want  for  material.  Nowhere  in  New 
Mexico  is  there  greater  variety  or  more  picturesqueness. 
The  region  is  a  bit  of  unpolluted  nature,  fresh  and  fair 
and  elysian.  The  stream  is  cold  and  clear,  the  shade 
is  deep  and  rich,  the  isolated  rocks  are  vari-hued,  and 
overlooking  the  valley  are  high  mountains,  lending  a 
grandeur  to  the  scene.  No  wonder  Montezuma  lived 
here,  and  it  is  only  strange  that  in  the  present  naturfe 
holds  a  sway  so  undisputed. 

The  narrowest  part  of  the  Pecos  Valley,  and  through 
which  the  road  extends  to  the  junction  town  of  Lamy 
and  thence  to  Santa  Fe,  is  Glorietta  Pass.  In  it 
is  Apache  Canon,  formed  by  twin  ledges  of  yellowish 
rock  pressing  so  closely  together  that  there  is  barely 
room  for  the  train  and  stream  to  pass  between. 

Apache  Cation  has  a  history.  One  of  the  sharpest 
battles  of  the  late  war  was  fought  there.  In  1863  the 
Confederates  marched  up  the  Rio  Grande  Valley  and 
attacked  the  towns  of  New  Mexico  and  Colorado, 
gaining  possession  of  Albuquerque,  Santa  Fe,  and 
several  scattered  villages.  In  the  north  the  Unionists 
became  alarmed  at  the  invasion,  and  petitions  for  help 
were  forwarded  to  Washington.  But  Virginia  was  in 
danger  as  well  as  Colorado,  and  no  aid  could  be 
spared  to  protect  the  Far  West.     Upon  receiving  this 


44  With  the  Invader. 


ultimatum  a  company,  composed  of  frontiersmen  and 
citizens  was  formed  at  Denver. 

Marching  southward,  with  only  their  patriotism  to 
encourage  them,  the  handful  of  men  came  to  Glorietta 
Pass,  and  camped  there.  Soon  the  Texans,  with  their 
ranks  swelled  by  Mexicans,  marched  into  Apache 
Caflon,  and  were  met  by  the  Unionists.  The  odds 
were  ten  to  one  against  the  patriots ;  but  when  the 
engagement  ended,  thousands  of  dead  Texans  lay 
piled  together  in  the  ravine,  and  the  live  ones  were 
making  haste  down  the  valley  to  their  homes.  The 
West  was  saved,  and  later  the  captured  towns  in  New 
Mexico  were  retaken. 


CHAPTER   III. 

America's  Oldest  City. 

O  ANTA  FE  enjoys  the  distinction  of  being  the  old- 
^  est  city  in  America,  and  in  1883  it  celebrated  its 
tertio-millennium.  It  requires  perhaps  a  slight  stretch 
of  the  quality  in  honor  of  which  the  town  is  named  to 
accept  the  age  which  is  given  the  place  without  ques- 
tion; but  even  if  the  antiquity  is  exaggerated  a  few 
years,  it  is  only  a  very  few,  and  the  town  is  sufficiently 
hoary  with  antiquity  to  satisfy  any  one  desirous*  of 
something  ancient  and  historical  in  America. 

The  date  from  which  Santa  Fe  begins  to  count  the 
years  of  its  existence  is  1550.  Ten  years  previously 
the  Spanish  adventurer,  Coronado,  had  visited  the  Pu- 
eblo, which  was  afterwards  captured  by  the  invaders 
and  rechristened  with  its  present  name,  and  it  was 
probably  at  an  earlier  date  than  1550  that  the  present 
city  began  to  have  its  foundations  laid. 

In  1540,  when  the  Spaniards  looked  for  the  first  time 
upon  the  city,  Santa  Fe  was  an  Indian  village  of  great 
size  and  importance.  Not  only  was  its  population  larger 
than  that  of  its  neighbors,  but  it  was  better  built  and  bet- 
ter located.     It  was  so  attractive  indeed,  that  the  visitors 


4.6  With  the  Invader. 


from  Spain  were  at  once  filled  with  a  desire  to  possess 
it,  and  they  never  rested  until  they  had  subjugated  the 
people.  Marching  down  upon  the  city  from  the  hill 
commanding  a  view  of  it,  they  leveled  its  walls  and  de- 
stroyed its  houses,  and  on  the  ruins  erected  the  pres- 
ent town. 

Spanish  cruelty  has  robbed  the  world  of  the  history  of 
the  Aztec  stronghold  antedating  the  invasion  of  1540. 
Had  the  conquerors  treated  their  victims  with  any  len- 
iency at  all  there  would  be  to-day  less  conjecture  and 
more  certainty  regarding  the  original  village  and  its  peo- 
ple. But  so  great  was  the  tyranny  of  the  Spaniards,  and 
so  harsh  their  measures,  that  the  Indians  revolted  after 
more  than  a  century  of  servitude,  and  in  1680  drove  the 
invaders  from  their  city  and  from  the  land.  Then  came 
a  half-dozen  years  of  annihilation.  Churches  were  de- 
stroyed, houses  leveled  to  the  ground,  valuable  mines 
obliterated,  Spanish  documents  burned,  and  vandalism 
reigned  supreme.  The  cruelty  of  the  past  century  sug- 
gested every  form  of  obliteration.  Santa  Fe  was  pil- 
laged, and  in  its  plaza  the  records  of  the  first  discoverers 
of  the  place,  which  would  now  throw  so  much  light 
upon  a  doubtful  question,  fed  the  fire  whose  fitful  glare 
lighted  the  destroyers  engaged  upon  their  angry  work. 

In  1693  the  Spaniards,  under  De  Varque,  recon- 
quered the  town,  after  a  desperate  fight,  and  from  that 
time  Santa  Fe'  enjoyed  a  listless  lease  of  life  which  has 
really  never  been  disturbed.  Even  with  its  start  of 
more  than  a  century  it  cannot  compare  in  size  or  im- 


America's  Oldest  City.  47 

portance  with  many  of  its  rivals,  who  will  be  obliged 
to  wait  more  centuries  than  one  cares  to  contemplate 
before  claiming  an  age  equal  to  that  of  Santa  Fe'. 

Under  the  rule  of  Spain,  the  city  was  very  much  the 
sort  of  place  that  it  was  when  the  Pueblo  Indians,  and 
possibly  the  Aztecs,  who  preceded  them,  held  con- 
trol. Had  the  monuments  of  the  original  builders 
been  kept  intact,  they  would  more  than  likely  be  as 
imposing  as  are  those  which  the  Spaniards  have  left. 
Enough  is  known  of  the  old  Pueblo,  which  antedates 
the  Spanish  discovery  no  one  knows  how  long,  to  war- 
rant the  assertion  that  it  was  a  veritable  metropolis  of 
grand  proportions.  But  the  present  city  is  far  from 
being  imposing,  and  were  it  not  that  the  place  has  a 
romantic  history  and  is  picturesque  in  many  of  its  de- 
tails, it  would  hardly  receive  the  attention  now  lavished 
upon  it. 

At  first  sight  it  is  peculiarly  Spanish  in  its  archi- 
tecture, and  a  more  intimate  acquaintance  with  its 
narrow  crooked  streets,  shaded  balconies,  flowery 
placitas  and  quaint  adobe  buildings,  heightens  one's 
first  illusion,  which  impelled  him  to  imagine  Santa  Fe 
a  town  of  some  foreign  land  rather  than  one  resting  on 
American  soil.  The  sophism  is  most  natural.  Except 
in  a  few  particulars,  more  noticeable  in  late  years  than 
in  the  past,  Santa  Fe  might  easily  pass  muster  as  a 
town  of  Spain.  It  bears  everywhere  the  marks  of  its 
Spanish  origin.  The  material  used  in  building,  and 
the  peculiar  conditions  of  climate  which  had  to  be 


48  With  the  Itivader . 


considered,  have  given  it  an  old-world  appearance  and 
general  solidity  of  design,  which  is  particularly  accepta- 
ble in  a  region  where  there  is  so  much  that  is  frail,  and 
new,  and  unstable. 

Compared  with  the  frontier  towns  of  the  west,  with 
their  crude  glarishness,  Santa  Fe  is  solidity  personified, 
and  one  notices  with  unaffected  sorrow  the  increasing 
Americanisms  which  are  so  surely  altering  the  old 
houses  and  the  quaint  streets,  and  which  are  robbing 
the  city  of  much  of  its  old  time  charm. 

The  history  of  Santa  Fe  from  1540  until  the  late  in- 
vasion by  Americans,  is  the  uneventful  story  of  a  peo- 
ple who  were  little  inclined  to  exert  themselves  and 
who  were  satisfied,  so  long  as  they  had  enough  to  eat 
and  drink,  to  sit  in  the  warm  corners  of  their  town 
and  take  life  as  it  came  without  questioning  the  why 
or  wherefore. 

Some  one  has  said  that  if  Montesquieu  was  right  in 
calling  that  people  happy  whose  annals  were  tiresome, 
the  Santa  Feans  should  have  been  supremely  happy. 
So  far  as  there  is  external  evidence  the  inhabitants  of 
the  old  city  did  but  little  in  their  lives  to  render  their 
town  attractive  or  to  develop  the  vast  natural  resources 
of  their  country.  It  may  be  that  the  warm  climate  of 
New  Mexico  was  not  sufficiently  stimulating  to  create 
activity,  or  that  the  people  were  naturally  lazy.  What- 
ever the  cause,  there  was  great  inactivity,  and  the 
priests,  who  followed  the  conquerors,  appear  to  have 
been  the  only  ones  who  were  imbued  with  the  slightest 


America's  Oldest  City.  49 

animation.  The  result  of  this  one-sided  activity  is  that 
Santa  Fe  has  more  churches  than  there  seems  to  be  the 
slightest  necessity  for,  and  the  natives  are  an  essen- 
tially church-going  people. 

The  First  Yankee  visitor  to  Santa  Fe  was  Lieuten- 
ant Pike,  whose  name  is  given  to  one  of  the  highest 
peaks  in  Colorado.  He  visited  the  city  in  1806,  and 
was  not  particularly  pleased  with  its  appearance.  In 
1846  the  United  States  declared  war  against  Mexico, 
and  a  strong  force  under  General  Kearney  was  sent  to 
take  possession  of  New  Mexico.  They  captured  Santa 
Fe  without  opposition  and  Kearney  built  a  fort  on  the 
height  behind  the  town,  which  he  called  Fort  Marcy, 
and  the  crumbling  ruins  of  which  may  still  be  seen. 
Later  on  other  troops  were  quartered  in  the  old  town 
and  a  military  post  was  established  near  the  plaza, 
which  was  the  cause  of  many  Americans  drifting  into 
the  country  and  settling  in  the  city  of  New  Spain. 

But  still  the  early  comers  were  only  indifferent  civil- 
izers,  and  Santa  Fe  remained,  as  Goldsmith  would  say, 
"remote,  unfriended,  melancholy,  slow,"  and  there  was 
but  little  life  in  the  place  until  the  mining  "boom"  of 
a  few  years  ago  that  caused  the  Southwest  to  assume  a 
new  importance,  and  which  was  the  direct  cause  of  that 
railway  building  in  the  Territory  which  has  so  changed 
the  historic  land. 

The  best  view  of  Santa  Fe  is  that  obtained  from  the 
ruins  of  old  Fort  Marcy.  The  crumbling  walls  of  the 
defense  occupy  the  crest  of  a  brown-hued  hill  rising 


jo  With  the  Invader 


just  back  of  the  city  which  overlooks  the  plateau  upon 
which  the  town  stands  and  the  valley  stretching  south- 
ward toward  old  Mexico.  In  the  north  runs  a  ledge 
of  hills  with  snow-capped  peaks,  while  southward  rise 
the  Cerrillos,  blue  and  indistinct  and  with  heavy  clouds 
rolling  about  their  snowy  summits.  The  scene  is  never 
tiresome,  and  is  full  of  changes  as  the  cloud  patches 
dot  the  valley  and  the  sunlight  falls  upon  the  range 
beyond. 

At  one's  feet  lies  the  city,  its  low-roofed  houses  cov- 
ering the  mesa  and  its  narrow  streets  extending  in 
wavering  courses  among  sun-baked  walls.  There 
flows  Santa  Fe  Creek,  with  time-stained  huts  lining  its 
banks,  there  rises  the  torn  fagade  of  old  San  Miguel, 
there  the  spire  of  Guadalupe,  there  the  roof  of  San 
Francisco,  while  in  the  centre  of  the  town  lies  the 
plaza,  with  its  green  trees  reaching  high  above  the 
palace  and  overshadowing  the  nearer  house-tops. 
Gaping  chimneys  send  wreaths  of  smoke  curling  into 
the  air,  the  sky  is  blue  and  clear,  and  beyond  the  val- 
ley, filled  with  shadowy  mounds,  peak  after  peak  is 
seen  lifting  pointed  heads  far  into  cloud  land. 

Santa  Fe  is  all  disclosed  to  view,  and  from  its  busy 
portions  the  eye  roves  away  to  where  there  is  still  the 
old-time  quiet  and  primitiveness  and  where  children  are 
playing  about  the  open  doorways  and  women  are  bak- 
ing bread  in  their  earthen  ovens  as  they  have  done  for 
so  many  years.  The  coloring  is  as  varied  as  the  pros- 
pect.    Brown  and  yellow,  blue  and  white  are  crowded 


America's  Oldest  City.  51 

before  one's  vision  everywhere,  and  a  country  is  spread 
in  sight  which  seems  without  a  limit.  No  wonder  the 
Indians  fought  hard  to  retain  their  home,  or  that  the 
Spaniards  fought  as  strongly  to  obtain  the  place. 

The  prevailing  color  in  Santa  Fe  is  brown.  Nearly 
all,  and  it  was  not  long  ago  that  the  qualifying  adverb 
might  have  been  omitted,  the  houses  are  built  of  adobe 
which  has  been  baked  by  the  suns  of  fleeting  years 
until  given  the  deep,  warm  and  eye-resting  hue  it  has. 
The  streets,  too,  so  adobe  themselves  that  the  slightest 
moisture  renders  them  as  slippery  and  pasty  as  a  brick- 
yard in  rainy  weather,  are  of  brown-hued  earth,  and 
the  distant  range,  and  the  elevations  about  the  town 
are  brown.  -At  sunrise  and  sunset  the  houses  are 
lighted  with  a  coloring  that  is  almost  reddish  brown, 
but  during  the  day,  when  there  is  a  steady  glare,  they 
lose  their  brilliant  hues  and  appear  in  their  true 
shades. 

Here  and  there  about  the  city  one  may  find  a  few 
buildings  which  are  more  yellow  than  brown,  notably 
the  church  of  San  Miguel,  and  the  facade  of  the  new 
San  Francisco  Cathedral,  and  off  in  the  southern  lim- 
its of  the  plateau  are  a  few  highly  colored,  red-tinged 
rocks;  and  whenever  the  hills  have  their  sides  dis- 
turbed the  earth  is  red-hued,  too. 

It  is  a  happy  combination  of  colorings,  and  all  the 
shades  are  intensified  and  made  conspicuous  by  that 
over-arching  sky,  pure  and  blue,  and  deep,  and  by  the 
white  sunlight,  which  causes  the  houses  to  throw  long, 


j2  With  the  Invader: 

dark  shadows,  and  which  is  itself  reflected  with  almost 
dazzling  beauty  from  off  the  snow-covered  ranges 
stretching  across  the  horizon  in  the  south  and  west. 

During  the  summer  season,  which  begins  earlier  and 
lasts  longer  than  in  the  East,  Santa  Fe  has  still  another 
beauty  formed  by  the  green-leaved  trees  which  line 
both  banks  of  Santa  Fe  Creek — upon  which  the  town 
is  built — and  which  fill  the  little  plaza,  spread  out  in 
front  of  the  old  Governor's  Palace.  Then  there  is 
more  freshness  on  the  hillsides  and  in  the  yards,  and 
the  town,  except  its  houses,  resembles  many  of  those 
New  England  villages  which  are  scattered  among  the 
New  Hampshire  hills. 

It  seems  almost  a  pity  to  those  who  are  inclined  to 
cling  to  the  old,  that  Santa  Fe'  cannot  retain  its  brown- 
ness,  which  is  so  in  keeping  with  the  soil  upon  which 
the  city  stands  and  with  the  faces  of  those  who  live 
within  the  sun-baked  houses.  One  regrets  the  pres- 
ence of  the  new  American  cottages.  Their  pointed 
roofs,  with  prosaic  shingles,  their  angles,  so  obtrusive, 
and  their  glaring  white  fronts  and  trim  walls  of  bright 
red  brick  are  not  in  keeping  with  the  natural  colors 
that  exist. 

And  yet  regrets  at  the  modern  innovation  are  useless. 
Santa  Fe  contains  many  new  houses,  and  will  contain 
many  more,  and  to-day  the  flaming  posters,  stiff  new 
signs,  heavy  wagons,  the  hurry  and  bustle  characteristic 
of  American  "pluck"  and  "energy,"  are  prominently 
present,  and  the  plaza,  which  at  one  time  witnessed 


America's  Oldest  City.  S3 

the  marshaling  there  of  gaily  bedecked  Spaniards,  at 
another  saw  infuriated  Indians,  bent  on  reclaiming 
their  own,  rushing  across  it  to  the  Palace,  and  which 
at  all  times,  until  Santa  Fe  became  so  modernized, 
was  the  resting  place  of  picturesquely  attired  people, 
speaking  together  in  a  musical  tongue,  the  plaza  even 
is  changed.  One  sees  more  Americans  there  than  he 
does  Mexicans,  and  there  is  not  the  ancient  restful- 
ness  and  quiet  which  once  existed.  The  name  "plaza" 
should  be  changed  to  "common,"  for  the  spot  is  no 
longer  Spanish. 

There  are  still  portions  of  the  city,  however,  which 
the  modern  invaders  have  not  attacked  as  yet,  and 
where  one  may  still  find  the  simply  built  houses  and 
the  simple-minded  people  who  once  were  the  only  in- 
habitants. Leaving  the  plaza  and  following  any  one  of 
the  several  narrow  streets  that  lead  from  it  toward  the 
creek  that  runs  along  the  eastern  limits  of  the  city  and 
divides  old  from  new  Santa  Fe',  one  comes  to  where 
there  are  intricate  and  tortuous  alley-ways  leading  among 
small,  ill-kept  dilapidated  abodes  in  which  the  Mexi- 
cans live.  Except  where  they  have  fallen  down,  and 
have  been  replaced  by  fences,  there  are  long  lines  of 
adobe  walls,  brown  as  the  houses  and  the  children,  and 
behind  which  are  the  gardens  and  the  oval-shaped 
baking  ovens  and  the  other  accessories  of  a  well  order- 
ed household. 

Near  San  Miguel,  out  in  this  part  of  Santa  Fe',  stands 
the  oldest  house  in  America,  which,  if  it  has  not  the 


54  With  the  hivader . 


age  allowed  it,  has  certainly  a  sufficiently  antiquated 
appearance.  It  is  only  one  story  high,  and  through 
the  doorway  one  has  a  glimpse  of  a  bare-floored  room 
in  which  dogs,  chickens  and  children  are  mixed  to- 
gether in  indescribable  confusion.  The  windows,  few 
in  number  and  small,  are  set  deep  into  the  adobe 
walls,  and  the  yard  is  the  congregating  spot  of  the 
many  who  idle  there  basking  in  the  warm  sunlight  or 
the  shade  of  afternoon. 

The  street  leading  past  the  old  place,  a  cow-path  in 
width,  runs  near  many  other  homes  which  have  age 
and  primitiveness  written  all  over  them.  Some  are 
better  and  cleaner  than  others,  and  the  yards  are  all 
carefully  swept,  and  the  rooms,  with  their  earthen 
floors,  and  ceiling  beams  and  whitened  walls,  are  re- 
freshing places  in  which  to  lounge  away  an  hour. 

The  latch-string  is  always  out,  among  the  Mexicans. 
The  people  are  hospitable  to  an  extreme,  and  the  sim- 
ple request  for  entrance  insures  a  hospitality  that  is 
unbounded  and  limited  only  by  means  of  the  host  and 
hostess.  Running  down  from  many  of  the  cottages 
are  the  diminutive  gardens  which  do  so  much  toward 
giving  bread  to  the  people.  They  are  very  small,  these 
bits  of  ground,  but  very  neat,  and  every  inch  of  earth 
is  cultivated. 

Wandering  about  them,  with  the  walls  hiding  the 
streets  with  their  activity,  and  hearing  the  murmuring 
waters  of  the  stream  bubbling  contentedly  past,  one 
seems  again  in  Arcadia,  or  likens  himself  to  the  fathers 


America's  Oldest  City.  Jf 

of  old  who  had  their  gardens  in  the  west,  and  who 
listened  to  the  same  old  bells  that  still  clang  their 
summons  from  out  the  distant  towers  of  the  various 
churches. 

Santa  Fe  means  "Holy  Faith."  Whether  the  Fran- 
ciscan fathers  feared  there  would  be  a  lack  of  faith  un- 
less they  deluged  the  town  with  churches,  or  whether 
it  aided  Spanish  power  to  have  numerous  houses  of 
worship,  is  a  question.  But  whatever  the  incentive, 
Santa  Fe  is  unusually  well  provided  with  miniature  ca- 
thedrals of  golden  age,  which  are  severally  interesting. 
None  of  them  are  cathedrals  in  reality,  and  robbed  of 
their  associations  would  hardly  be  worth  inspection. 
But  their  history  is  closely  allied  to  that  of  the  city,  and 
as  specimens  of  Spanish  architecture  in  the  west  they 
enjoy  no  little  importance.  Time  has  dealt  none  too 
gently  with  the  adobe  structures.  The  walls  are  scarred 
and  infirm,  the  heavy  beams  are  stained  and  warped, 
and  the  towers  show  a  general  weakness,  which  is  prima 
facie  evidence  of  their  age. 

The  three  important  churches  are  Guadalupe,  San 
Miguel  and  San  Francisco,  or  St.  Francis.  Of  these 
San  Miguel  is  the  only  one  remaining  as  it  was  built  a 
hundred  years  or  more  ago,  or  that  has  great  age.  The 
others  were  not  finished  until  several  years  after  it  was 
opened,  and  to-day  have  been  altered  past  all  recogni- 
tion. 

Guadalupe  has  had  a  wooden  roof  and  steeple 
added  to  its  old  flat  roof  and  cracked  belfry,  and  as 


56  With  the  Invader: 

for  San  Francisco,  the  stone  walls  of  the  new  church 
completely  hide  the  adobe  ones  of  the  old,  and  it  is 
only  by  careful  search  that  the  original  cathedral  is 
discovered. 

It  i  s  all  very  necessary,  probably,  this  modernizing 
and  destroying,  but  in  losing  its  old  churches  Santa 
Fe  will  lose  one  of  its  chief  attractions.  It  is  the  old 
and  curious,  rather  than  the  new  and  prosaic  which  is 
desired  in  the  Southwest.  One  may  not  care  to  wor- 
ship in  adobe  houses  with  bare  floors,  somber  shadows 
and  dingy  walls,  but  he  enjoys  seeing  others  do  so. 
That  which  is  picturesque  is  attractive,  and  the  old 
churches  of  Santa  Fe  were  that,  whatever  else  they 
may  or  may  not  have  been. 

San  Miguel  is  part  and  parcel  of  old  Santa  Fe.  The 
body  of  the  church  extends  in  front  of  the  oldest  house 
of  the  city,  and  the  facade  looks  out  upon  a  wall- 
enclosed  yard,  facing  one  of  the  narrow  lanes. 

Standing  before  the  time-stained  tower,  with  its 
wooden  cross  still  feebly  bidding  defiance  to  time  and 
weather,  one  looks  over  flat-roofed  houses  to  the  rush- 
ing waters  of  the  creek,  flowing  down  from  the  moun- 
tains and  out  into  the  valley,  and  across  it  to  the 
newer  portions  of  the  city,  crowded  together  at  the 
base  of  low-browed  hills,  which  reach  far  away  to  blue 
ridges,  with  whitened  tops,  looming  proudly  into  sight. 
It  is  very  quiet  in  the  neighborhood,  and  the  church 
itself  has  a  sedateness  corresponding  to  the  houses 
clustering  at  its  side.      It  is  a  plain,  unornamented 


America's  Oldest  City. 


57 


structure,  built  for  use,  and  not  for  show.  In  earlier 
days,  before  the  walls  became  so  insecure,  a  Spanish 
bell  hung  in  the  tower,  and  rang  out  its  summons. 
But  to-day  the  belfry  is  empty,  and  the  old  bell,  cast 
in  1356,  has  an  honored  niche  within  the  church. 


FAQADE  OF  SAN  MIGUEL. 

Entering  the  interior,  and  shutting  out  the  greater 
part  of  daylight  behind  the  heavy  doors,  closing  with 
noisy  clatter  behind  one,  there  is  found  a  softened 
light  doing  its  best  to  illumine   the  darkened  corners 


j8  With  the  Invader. 


At  one  end  of  the  long  and  narrow  room,  confined  by 
thick,  white  walls,  set  with  deep-cut  windows,  stands 
the  altar,  gaudy  with  its  decorations,  while  above  the 
entrance  doorway  is  the  choir,  supported  by  heavy 
beams,  still  showing  the  carvings  cut  by  the  builders 
years  ago.  It  is  a  simple,  unpretentious  room,  and 
one  that  sees  but  little  of  the  pomp  and  show  that 
marked  its  earlier  life.  There  is  a  mustiness  in  the 
atmosphere  aud  a  venerableness  about  the  wood-work 
which  is  unmistakably  ancient. 

It  is  supposed  that  San  Miguel  was  originally  built 
very  shortly  after  the  year  1600,  during  the  governor- 
ship of  Onate.  In  the  Indian  revolution  of  1680  it 
was  nearly  destroyed  by  the  exasperated  natives,  who 
left  only  a  wall  or  two  of  its  orignal  edifice  standing. 
In  1693,  after  the  re-conquest  of  the  city  by  the  Span- 
iards, the  work  of  rebuilding  was  begun,  and  in  17 10 
the  church  was  finished. 

At  the  head  of  San  Francisco  street,  extending 
north  and  south  past  the  plaza,  is  the  Cathedral  of  San 
Francisco.  A  new  church  is  being  built  over  the  old 
one,  and  while  the  original  edifice  is  still  used  for 
worship,  its  days  are  already  numbered. 

When  erected,  in  17  61,  the  cathedral  was  the  largest 
and  the  most  imposing  looking  church  in  New  Mexico. 
Two  heavy  towers  flanked  the  facade,  and  the  en- 
trance doors  were  of  stained  wcod,  elaborately  carved. 
These  are  things  of  the  past  now,  and  the  thick  outer 
walls  are  broken  down  in  many  places,  and  only  the 


America's  Oldest  City.  59 

interior,  dark  and  gloomy,  retains  its  original  shape 
and  attractions.  Visiting  the  place  at  any  hour  of  the 
day,  one  will  find  silent  worshippers  kneeling  on  the 
hard  floor  before  the  various  shrines,  or  in  front  of  the 
altar,  while  on  Sunday  the  church  is  filled  with  people, 
and  clouds  of  incense  rise  to  the  time-stained  rafters 
overhead. 

San  Francisco  is  cruciform  in  shape,  and  contains 
several  interesting  objects  left  by  the  Spaniards.  The 
most  highly  prized  relic  is  the  great  Reredos,  made  of 
native  stone,  carved  in  relief,  which  stands  behind  the 
altar,  and  extends  across  the  entire  width  of  the  chan- 
cel recess  to  the  eaves  of  the  building. 

It  is  in  three  sections,  with  carved  arabesque  col- 
umns between  them,  the  whole  being  painted  in  ap- 
propriate colors.  In  the  center  is  a  large,  life-sized 
statue,  and  above  that  a  relief  of  St.  James  on  horse- 
back, killing  turbaned  Saracens.  Over  that,  crowning 
the  whole  Reredos,  is  a  representation  of  St.  Joseph, 
and  of  the  Virgin  and  Child.  On  the  north  side  are 
two  carved  pictures,  in  stone  relief,  one  of  St.  Anthony 
of  Padua,  with  the  Holy  Child,  and  a  tree;  and  the 
other  of  St.  Ignacius,  with  a  book  and  standard.  Op- 
posite these  are  St.  John  Nepomuceno,  with  cross  and 
palm,  and  St.  Francis  Xavier  baptizing  Indians. 

On  both  sides  of  the  altar,  in  the  main  body  of  the 
church,  are  two  small  chapels,  dedicated  respectively 
to  San  Jose  and  the  Blessed  Virgin.  The  chapel  of 
San  Jose  has  a  number  of  old  and  valuable  pictures. 


60  With  the  Invader: 

That  over  the  altar  is  of  St.  Joseph,  and  underneath  it 
is  a  statuette  of  the  same  saint  wearing  a  crown  and 
holding  the  Infant  Christ.  Near  by  is  another  picture 
of  St.  Joseph,  and  one  of  a  monk,  and  of  St.  Augus- 
tine wearing  a  bishop's  mitre.  On  one  of  the  chapel 
walls  hang  paintings  of  the  Good  Samaritan,  of  a  saint 
in  penitential  robes,  and  of  a  Franciscan  friar. 

In  the  chapel  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  are  two  figures 
of  female  saints,  the  one  on  the  right  of  the  altar  be- 
ing painted  in  bright  colors,  while  that  on  the  left  is 
black.  Over  the  altar  is  an  image  of  the  Virgin 
clothed  in  rich  silk  vestments,  above  which  is  a  picture 
of  the  Madonna,  and  beneath  an  "Ecce  Homo."  On 
the  left  and  right  are  paintings  of  the  Assumption  of 
the  Virgin  and  of  St.  Joseph,  companion  pieces,  and 
between  them  and  the  altar  smaller  pictures  represent- 
ing two  female  saints. 

In  the  body  of  the  church  are  the  usual  "Stations 
of  the  Cross,"  of  large  size,  and  on  the  north  side  a 
niche  containing  an  image  of  Christ  in  the  Tomb,  used 
in  the  ceremonies  between  Good  Friday  and  Easter. 
Over  the  chancel  are  three  stained  glass  windows,  with 
figures  representing  St.  Francis,  St.  Joseph  and  the 
Immaculate  Conception.  In  the  sacristy  is  a  painting 
of  Our  Lord,  and  a  statue  in  wood  and  enamel  of  San 
Antonio  de  Padua,  of  Spanish  origin,  eighteen  inches 
high,  and  similar  in  style  to  those  at  Santa  Cruz  and 
the  Guadalupe  Church.  In  the  same  place  is  a  large 
image  of  the  Santo  Nino  Conquistador.     None  of  the 


America's  Oldest  City.  61 


paintings  are  artistic,  but  in  the  faint  light  of  the 
church  they  lend  a  certain  impressiveness  to  the  place, 
and  the  rudely  carved  and  horribly  decorated  images 
of  the  Savior,  and  of  various  saints,  are  devotedly  ad- 
mired by  the  natives. 

The  Church  of  Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe  has  been 
so  restored  and  modernized  that  its  builders,  could 
they  see  it  to-day,  would  hardly  recognize  it  as  the 
one  which  they  erected.  In  place  of  the  flat  roof  of 
brown  adobe,  there  is  the  pointed,  shingled  one, 
which  so  generally  graces  a  "meeting  house"  in  New 
England,  and  the  belfry,  in  which  once  hung  a  half 
dozen  bells  made  of  native  brass,  is  replaced  by  a 
steeple  of  great  angularity  and  no  beauty.  The  floor 
has  been  covered  with  boards  and  pews,  while  the 
walls  have  been  studded  with  wide  windows,  which 
flood  the  old  place  with  a  glaring  light,  rendering  it 
commonplace  and  unattractive.  Were  it  not  for  the 
heavy  beams  supporting  the  choir  and  the  roof,  Guad. 
alupe  would  be  a  creation  of  the  present  day.  But 
the  beams  could  not  be  removed,  and  now,  with  the 
old  paintings  which  the  church  contains,  save  the  pile 
from  being  entirely  without  interest. 

The  principal  picture  in  the  collection  is  that  behind 
the  altar.  It  is  dedicated  to  Neustra  Sefiora  de  Guad- 
alupe, and  is  composed  of  six  paintings,  two  on  each 
side,  one  in  the  center  and  one  over  the  center,  the 
whole  covering  a  canvas  some  fourteen  feet  high  by 
ten  wide. 


62  With  the  Invader. 


The  central  picture  is  the  usual  one  of  Our  Lady  of 
Guadalupe,  which,  of  course  is  unchangeable,  as  all 
are  copies  of  the  original  which  appeared  on  the  talma 
of  the  shepherd.  Around  this  are  four  pictures  repre- 
senting scenes  in  the  story  of  the  Virgin  of  Guada- 
lupe. The  first  scene  represents  the  Virgin  appearing 
to  the  shepherd,  Juan  Diego,  and  the  latter  hastening 
to  obey  her  command.  Opposite  this  is  the  second 
scene,  when  the  shepherd  returns  after  being  repulsed 
by  the  Bishop  of  Mexico,  three  angels  appearing  above 
him.  Below  is  represented  the  third  scene,  when 
Diego  brings  the  roses  in  his  talma  at  the  command  of 
the  Virgin,  and  opposite  this,  the  fourth  and  last  scene, 
where  on  opening  the  talma  before  the  bishop,  the  mi- 
raculous painting  of  Our  Lady  appears.  Above  the 
whole  is  a  representation  of  the  three  persons  of  the 
Trinity,  the  Son  being  distinguished  by  the  nail-marks 
in  his  hands. 

The  most  interesting  single  work  is  the  picture  on  a 
large  copper  plate,  which  was  painted  in  1779  by 
Sebastian  Salcedo.  The  frame  is  a  unique  produc- 
tion of  art,  having  silver  corners  and  a  silver  orna- 
ment on  each  of  the  four  sides,  and  the  painting  itself 
is  made  up  of  a  number  of  small  pictures,  the  central 
one  being  Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe,  surrounded  by 
angels  and  patriarchs  presenting  crowns.  Above  her 
are  seven  different  scenes  in  the  history  of  her  ap- 
pearance to  Diego;  four  of  them  similar  to  those  in 
the   great   altar-picture,    and   three   of    other   scenes. 


America's  Oldest  City.  63 

Below  is  a  portrait  of  Pope  Benedict  XIV,  and  on 
the  right  an  emblematic  picture  of  the  Mexican  Empire, 
personified  as  a  female. 

The  church  also  contains  two  antique  statuettes — 
one  of  which  is  the  finest  specimen  of  wood  carving, 
combined  witth  enamel  work,  existing  in  America.  It 
represents  the  Virgin  standing  in  the  crescent  of  a  new 
moon,  surrounded  by  clouds.  Directly  underneath  the 
figure  is  a  cherub's  face.  The  robes  are  of  exquisite 
workmanship,  representing  embroidery,  and  the  color- 
ing is  in  red  and  purple  contrasted  with  black  and 
gold.  The  other  statue  is  a  wood  and  plaster  one, 
representing  St.  Joseph,  and  is  a  worthless  piece  of 
work.  It  was  made  by  the  Indians  about  a  century 
ago. 

In  the  gallery  is  a  large  Mexican  painting  of  a  saint. 
The  figure  occupies  the  center  of  the  canvas.  Behind 
it  is  a  large  cross  and  over  the  head  are  two  angels 
holding  crowns.  In  one  lower  corner  is  another  angel 
presenting  a  crown,  and  in  the  opposite  corner  a  table 
holding  a  hideous  skull.  The  picture  is  far  from  artis- 
tic, but  as  a  specimen  of  art  in  the  Territory  a  hundred 
years  ago,  is  interesting  and  valuable. 

Next  to  their  churches  the  Santa  Fe'ans  take  particu- 
lar pride  in  their  old  Governor's  Palace,  or  Palacio  del 
Gobernador,  as  it  was  called  until  the  Americans  occu- 
pied it.  The  building  itself  has  a  history  full  of  pathos 
and  stirring  incident.  It  was  the  palace  of  the  Pueblo 
Chiefs  long  before  the  name  of  Santa  Fe  was  given  the 


64  With  tlie  Invader: 

town,  and  for  nearly  three  hundred  years  the  various 
Captain  Generals  of  Spain  issued  their  edicts  from  its 
dingy  rooms.  Altered  and  added  to,  whitewashed  and 
restored,  there  are  still  the  old  walls  of  the  original 
edifice  remaining,  and  the  place  is  to-day  the  official 
residence  of  the  Territorial  Governor. 

In  front  of  the  building,  which  faces  the  plaza,  runs 
a  shaded  portico  supported  by  a  row  of  wooden  pillars, 
while  opening  from  it  are  the  various  rooms  of  the  pal- 
ace. During  the  heat  of  the  day  and  on  those  afternoons 
when  the  military  band  plays  in  the  plaza,  the  portico 
is  filled  with  idlers  of  every  nationality,  and  for  a  time 
the  ancient  palace  assumes  its  old  time  liveliness  and 
importance.  Usually,  however,  there  is  a  listless  quiet 
about  it,  and  except  for  a  few  burros  fastened  to  the 
pillars  the  palace,  which  saw  so  much  excitement  in 
the  past,  is  left  to  its  meditations  undisturbed.  In  one 
of  the  rooms  Lew  Wallace  wrote,  "Ben  Hur"  and  "A 
Fair  God,"  and  in  another  General  Kearney  was  re. 
ceived,  and  Pike  was  entertained.  The  house  in  reality 
is  a  mecca  of  three  nations,  for  three  different  people 
have  been  interested  in  it. 

Leaving  the  palace  and  passing  through  the  plaza5 
filled  with  idlers  resting  on  the  various  benches  scat- 
tered about  beneath  the  green  trees,  the  principal  busi- 
ness street  of  Santa  Fe  is  reached.  In  olden  days, 
when  dark-eyed  Mexicans  held  the  city,  San  Francisco 
street,  as  the  narrow  thoroughfare  is  called,  was  lined 
with  residences,  but  to-day  its  casas  are  converted  into 


America's  Oldest  City.  65 


shops  and  heavy  American  wagons  have  replaced  the 
long-eared  burros  that  once  filled  the  lane.  On  either 
side  of  the  street  the  balconies  of  the  house  fronts  hang 
far  over  the  sidewalk,  and  there  are  shaded  alcoves, 
with  rows  of  pillars,  beneath  which  one  walks  from  one 
shop  to  another. 

Half-way  down  the  street,  and  extending  sharply 
away  toward  the  country,  is  Burro  alley,  one  of  the 
oldest  and  narrowest  paths  leading  about  the  city. 
Whether  it  be  morning,  noon  or  evening,  one  is  sure 
to  find  in  Burro  alley  a  score  and  more  of  the  animals 
that  have  given  the  street  its  name.  They  are  so 
numerous,  indeed,  that  could  Copperfield's  Aunt  Trot- 
wood  see  the  place  even  her  stout  heart  would  fail  were 
she  to  undertake  ridding  the  alley  of  the  pests  she  so 
abominated.  There  are  big  burros  and  little  ones, 
long-haired  and  frowsy  ones,  and  it  seems  at  times  as 
though  every  donkey  in  the  city  had  been  brought  to 
the  place  for  inspection  and  criticism.  For  every 
Mexican  having  goods  to  sell  or  visiting  the  town  to 
purchase  goods,  leaves  his  burro  in  the  alley.  There 
he  unpacks  his  goods  and  there  he  gathers  his  parcels 
together,  and  the  sight  of  all  the  loading  and  unloading 
has  in  it  a  flavor  of  the  Alhambra,  where,  as  here,  the 
donkey  is  the  native  bird  and  the  hardest  looking  being 
that  exists. 

Looking  at  Santa  Fe'  from  any  height  around  it  there 
is  seen  a  bit  of  enclosed  ground  lying  in  the  heart  of 
the  town,  which  enjoys  a  freshness  and  a  verdure  un- 


66  With  the  Invader. 


equaled  by  the  plaza  itself.  The  spot  is  the  Bishop's 
Garden,  owned  by  Bishop  Lamy  of  Santa  Fe.  From 
outside  the  high  adobe  wall  enclosing  the  garden 
there  is  not  even  a  suggestion  offered  of  the  beauties 
hid  within.  One  can  only  realize  the  charms  of  the 
place  after  entering  the  garden  through  the  gateway  that 
opens  upon  the  street. 

The  Bishop  has  labored  for  years  in  beautifying  and 
improving  his  few  acres.  In  the  center  of  them  is  a 
diminutive  pond,  and  around  this  trees  and  flowering 
shrubs,  which  fill  the  air  with  fragrance.  Shaded  walks 
wind  in  and  out  among  the  orchards,  and  reach  amid 
the  flowers,  and  there  are  rustic  seats  placed  beneath 
the  shade  on  which  one  may  rest  while  breathing  the 
fragrant  air  and  listening  to  the  bells  of  the  town  call- 
ing the  people  to  their  prayers.  Here,  away  from  the 
present  realities  of  the  city,  the  Santa  Fe  of  the  past 
rises  before  one  in  imagination.  Now,  as  then,  there 
is  quiet  restfulness,  and  a  suggestion  of  towns  beyond 
the  seas,  and  in  the  distance  rise  the  surrounding  hills 
and  the  brown  towers  of  the  churches. 

But  all  that  Santa  Fe  has  to  offer  is  not  found  with- 
in the  city.  Twenty  miles  westward  lies  the  Rio 
Grande  Valley,  wide  and  fertile,  and  dotted  with  Pu- 
eblo villages,  still  retaining  their  ancient  quaintness. 
Nearer  still  are  canons  leading  into  the  heart  of  the 
ranges,  that  have  a  picturesque  beauty  and  a  freshness 
that  is  delightful. 

By  a  two  days'  trip  one  may  also  visit  the  old  stone 


America's  Oldest  City.  6f 

Pueblo  of  Chippillo  and  the  ruins  ot  the  Cliff  Dwell- 
ings. Chippillo  occupies  the  top  of  a  high  mesa  in 
the  neighborhood  of  San  Yldefonso,  and  is  reached  by 
carriage  from  Santa  Fe.  It  is  perhaps  the  most  inter- 
esting ruin  in  New  Mexico.  Walking  up  a  narrow 
canon  formed  by  ledges  of  vari-colored  rock,  one 
climbs  the  cliffs  to  the  mesa,  and  stands  at  last  beside  the 
town  whose  origin  is  lost  in  the  shadows  of  age.  As 
at  Taos,  the  various  houses  comprising  the  village 
are  piled  together  in  a  compact  mass,  measuring  some 
three  hundred  feet  from  east  to  west  and  an  equal 
number  north  and  south.  The  Pueblo  was  originally 
built  around  a  plaza  containing  two  circular  estu/as, 
or  council  chambers,  and  was  constructed  of  stones 
squared  to  the  size  of  adobe  bricks.  To-day  a  ruin, 
forsaken  and  dismantled,  the  lines  of  the  old  walls  may 
still  be  traced,  and  the  ground  is  covered  with  broken 
pieces  of  pottery  and  bits  of  volcanic  glass. 

The  Cliff  Dwellings  are  on  the  opposite  side  from 
that  ascended  in  reaching  Chippillo,  and  consist  of  a 
score  of  cave-like  habitations,  deeply  cut  into  the  hard 
limestone.  All  show  evidence  of  former  occupation, 
and  the  towns  are  blackened  with  the  smoke  from  fires 
long  since  gone  out.  In  many  of  the  caves  are  rudely 
drawn  pictures  of  eagles,  bears,  horses,  and  men  and 
in  one  is  a  drawing  of  a  huge  snake  of  hideous  ugli- 
ness. 

Whether  Santa  Fe  has  seen  its  best  days  or  has  yet 
to  enjoy  them,  is  a  much  discussed  question  in  New 


68  With  the  Invader: 

Mexico.  It  says  no,  and  its  rivals  say  yes.  In  reality, 
all  depends  upon  chance.  If  paying  properties  are 
discovered  in  any  of  the  neighboring  ranges  the  city 
will  profit  from  the  excitement  that  must  ensue  and 
it  may  be  that  the  town  will  at  least  be  important  as 
an  agricultural  centre. 

But  at  present,  matters  are  at  a  standstill.  What  ani- 
mation there  is,  is  due  to  the  presence  of  the  troops  at 
the  Fort,  and  the  visitors  of  to-day  are  more  attracted 
by  the  curiosities  of  the  place  than  by  its  prospects. 
Rich  with  its  history  and  traditions,  quaint,  old  and 
pleasing,  Santa  Fe  has  much  which  is  not  found  else- 
where, and  its  popularity  cannot  easily  be  taken  away. 


CHAPTER   IV, 
Into  the  Heart  of  the  Southwest. 

A  BLUE  sky  overhanging  vast  stretches  of  yellow 
sand  swept  into  mounds  and  hills,  a  few  red- 
roofed  houses,  radiating  the  heat  of  the  closing  day, 
clumps  of  coarse  grass,  a  few  sage  brushes,  and  far  in 
the  distance  a  line  of  deep-blue  hills  with  whitened 
summits. 

Such  is  the  view  from  Wallace  Station,  a  few  miles 
below  Santa  Fe'.  A  dreary  prospect  some  would  call 
it — a  deserted  region,  void  of  moisture,  parched,  dusty 
and  full  of  monotony.  And  so  it  is  at  first  sight. 
Look  in  whatever  direction  one  may,  there  will  be  seen 
the  same  sights.  Low-browed  hills,  hot  and  dry, 
stunted  shrubs,  loose  rocks,  deep  arroyos,  distant 
mountain  heights. 

But  once  let  the  eye  grow  accustomed  to  the  view, 
and  there  begins  to  appear  a  new  feature  in  the  land- 
scape. The  far-off  mountains,  their  peaks  battling 
with  the  clouds,  the  foot-hills,  covered  with  dense  for- 
ests, the  Rio  Grande  Valley,  broad  and  haze-obscured, 
the  nearer  mounds,  with  steep  cliffs  and  rock-strewn 
crests,  all  have  a  wealth  of  coloring  which  is  indescrib- 
ably beautiful,  and  which  varies  with  almost  every 
hour  of  the  day.     If  the  time  be  that  in  which  the  sun 


yo  With  the  Invader: 

is  sinking  out  of  sight  behind  the  hills,  the  sky  above 
is  all  suffused  with  red,  and  quivering  arrows  of  light 
leap  upward  toward  the  zenith,  while  the  sand  dunes 
and  the  dry  parched  cliffs  are  dyed  a  deeper  red,  and 
are  softened  and  subdued  until  they  become  almost 
exquisite.  Even  the  sage-brush  and  grasses  grow  col- 
ored then,  while  the  country  all  about  seems  hushed 
and  quieted  and  less  full  of  ugly  glariness  than  it  did 
when  the  light  of  noon  was  upon  the  scene. 

Wallace  is  a  sleepy  town,  but  it  is  far  from  being  an 
unimportant  one.  Its  business  is  small,  so  far  as  its  re- 
tail trade  is  concerned,  but  from  it  there  are  shipped 
tons  and  tons  of  ore,  and  large  herds  of  cattle,  which 
are  raised  in  and  about  the  immediate  vicinity.  The 
country  lying  east  and  west,  is  of  unusual  richness,  and 
scattered  over  the  land,  which  looks  at  first  sight  so 
barren,  are  almost  countless  valleys,  fertile  and  se- 
cluded, which  contain  towns  and  ranches,  adding 
most  materially  to  the  wealth  of  New  Mexico.  Some 
of  the  richest  mines  in  the  Territory  are  located  within 
from  twenty  to  fifty  miles  of  Wallace,  and  the  little 
town  for  years  has  been  a  busy  centre. 

A  few  minutes'  walk  down  the  Rio  Grande  Valley 
from  Wallace  brings  one  to  the  Indian  pueblo  of  Santo 
Domingo,  one  of  the  best  preserved  of  the  many  vil- 
lages scattered  along  the  banks  of  the  river. 

Santo  Domingo  saw  its  first  European  visitor  in 
1540,  when  Coronado  discovered  it.  Since  that  time  it 
has  changed  but  little.     Old  roofs  have  crumbled  away 


Into  the  Heart  of  the  Southwest.  yi 

perhaps,  and  ladders  have  fallen  to  pieces  and  been 
replaced  by  new  ones,  but  the  town,  in  spite  of  its 
stains  and  scars,  does  not  look  materially  different  than 
when  it  was  centuries  younger,  and,  judging  from  the 
past,  it  will  not  be  likely  to  change  greatly  in  the  future 
if  the  Americans  leave  it,  as  it  has  so  long  been  left,  to 
bask  in  the  sunlight  down  the  river  side. 

The  houses  of  Santo  Domingo  are  not  as  irregularly 
arranged  as  at  Taos,  though  made  of  the  same  mate- 
rial. There  is  less  angularity  at  Domingo  and  fewer 
ladders,  while  the  people  in  a  measure  have  discarded 
trap-door  entrances  and  adopted  modern  doorways  and 
windows.  Still  the  village  is  but  a  collection  of  rudely 
made  huts,  grouped  disconnectedly  about  a  common 
plaza,  and  occupying  a  sandy  bluff  that  overlooks  the 
Rio  Grande. 

At  one  end  of  the  town,  and  standing  apart  from 
the  houses,  is  the  church  of  Santo  Domingo,  built  by 
the  Spaniards,  and  still  containing  bits  of  Spanish  dec- 
oration. Time  has  dealt  the  building  strong,  hard 
blows  during  the  time  it  has  stood  on  the  red-tinged 
bank,  and  to-day  the  belfry,  with  its  wooden  crossbar 
holding  a  bell,  and  the  heavy  wooden  doors  leading  to 
the  interior,  are  cracked  and  time-stained,  while  the 
wall  enclosing  the  little  square  in  front  of  the  church  is 
rapidly  crumbling  into  ruins. 

An  artist  searching  for  contrasts  in  colors  and  pic- 
turesqueness,  would  find  both  at  Santo  Domingo.  Not 
only  are  the  houses  interesting,  with  their  quaint  style 


72 


With  //it-  Invader: 


of  architecture,  but  the  people  are  picturesquely  at- 
tired and  the  life  they  lead  is  that  of  centuries  ago, 
when  New  Mexico  was  a  terra  incognita,  and  the  fore- 
fathers of  the  Indians  were  the  only  inhabitants. 


A  CORNER  AT  SANTO  DOMINGO. 


One  sees  dark,  swarthy  faces  gleaming  beneath  thick 
tresses  of  coarse,  black  hair,  cut  square  across  the 
forehead,  rows  of  white  teeth  set  in  large,  full-lipped 
mouths,    magnificent   eyes,    laughing  or  serious,  full, 


Into  the  Heart  of  the  Southwest.  7? 


rounded  busts  among  the  women  and   broad  chests 
among  the  men. 

Noticing  the  beauty  of  these  fat,  rounded  people, 
one  naturally,  if  he  is  a  man,  turns  his  eyes  first  to  the 
women,  and  once  turned  upon  them,  the  men  of  the 
tribe  might  be  as  ugly  as  sin  and  as  fierce  as  his  satanic 
majesty,  but  he  would  gaze  until  the  object  looked  at 
moved  away.  For  a  girl  of  Santo  Domingo  is  as  pretty 
as  a  picture.  Brown  as  a  berry,  eyes  dark  and  languid, 
hands  and  feet  small,  ankle  well-shaped  and  liberally 
displayed,  shoulder  round  and  peeking  out  of  the 
calico  waist  that  ends  just  below  the  arm,  pearly  teeth, 
black  hair,  pretty  laugh,  saucy,  flirty,  and  yet  demure 
Where  is  the  man  who  would  not  fall  in  love  for  half 
an  hour,  or  until  that  time,  at  least,  when  he  noticed 
that  his  adored  one  wore  no  shoes,  that  her  dress  was 
soiled,  that  she  could  not  write,  that  she  had  to  work, 
that  she  was  an  Indian  squaw.  But  she  is  a  modern 
Rebecca  at  the  well,  and,  like  her  model,  she  lives  in 
a  hot  country,  and  wears  few  clothes,  and  loves  to  lin- 
ger and  to  gossip. 

With  wants  that  are  as  simple  as  those  of  a  child, 
the  inhabitants  of  Santo  Domingo  are,  nevertheless, 
well-to-do,  and  their  farms  are  among  the  largest  and 
best  in  the  Rio  Grande  Valley.  Not  at  all  versed  in 
manufacturing,  themselves,  they  trade  once  a  year 
with  the  Navajos  and  the  Zuni  for  the  blankets  and 
trinkets  which  the  latter  make,  and  give  in  exchange 
the  fruit  and  corn  and  sheep  which  they  have  raised. 


74 


With  the  Invader. 


A  man  has  but  one  wife,  who  labors  for  him,  but  who 
is  protected,  and  the  people  are  quiet  and  unassuming. 
To  a  stranger  the  bared  forms  met  with  at  the  village 
may  seem  to  imply  immodesty.  Women  are  often  but 
scantily  clothed,  and  the  younger  children  play  in  the 
sands  with  no  other  covering  than  that  which  nature 
has  given  them.  But  whatever  is  natural  does  not  ap- 
pear immodest  to  these  ancient  dwellers  in  the  warm, 
winterless  climate,  and  mothers  nurse  their  children  in 
public  without  a  thought  of  its  being  a  proceeding  in- 
tended for  the  home  alone. 

With  civilization  pressing  upon  them,  the  Domin- 
goans  are  still  primitive.  Devoted  Catholics,  they  do 
not  forget  their  mythological  creeds,  and  to  them 
Montezuma  is  a  reality.  During  the  proper  seasons 
men  work  industriously  in  the  fields,  irrigating  the  soil, 
plowing,  planting  and  gathering  the  harvests,  and  on 
appointed  days  parties  are  formed  to  scour  the  coun- 
try for  game.  The  bow  and  arrow  are  still  used,  and 
the  boys  are  expert  throwers  of  a  rudely  made  club 
with  which  they  strike  down  their  prey. 

South  of  Wallace  are  several  smaller  pueblos  nest- 
ling beside  the  Rio  Grande,  and  farms  lie  on  both 
sides  of  the  railroad  track,  and  convert  the  otherwise 
barren  valley  into  a  garden  of  exceeding  freshness. 
In  the  spring,  lands  are  plowed  with  the  old-fashioned 
Mexican  plow,  drawn  by  a  half-dozen  yoke  of  oxen. 
In  the  fall,  the  fields  are  yellow  with  ripened  grain, 
and  the  harvesters  are  busy  gathering  the  cereals  into 


Into  the  Heart  of  the  Southwest.  j$ 

lumbering  carts.  But  whether  sowing  or  reaping,  the 
workers  and  the  wide  stretches  of  level  land,  hemmed 
in  by  hills  and  high  mountains,  and  watered  by  the 
river,  lend  a  pastoral  beauty  to  the  scene  and  remind 
one  of  Acadian  meadows. 

Harvesting  is  an  especially  happy  season.  Crops 
are  gathered  by  the  old  and  young,  thanks  are  offered 
in  the  churches,  and  the  last  load  is  followed  by  a 
triumphal  party  from  field  to  granary.  The  festivities 
of  the  day  extend  far  into  the  night.  Fires  are  lighted, 
songs  are  sung,  and  dances  indulged  in,  and  the  other- 
wise sedate  dwellers  in  the  adobe  houses  act  like  chil- 
dren, tickled  with  a  toy,  who  must  express  their  joy  or 
go  mad. 

At  Albuquerque,  a  few  miles  south  of  Wallace,  the 
Atlantic  and  Pacific  Railroad  branches  westward  from 
the  Atchison,  across  Northern  Arizona  to  Mojave  in 
California.  The  line  has  been  completed  but  a  short 
time,  yet  it  is  already  a  favorite  route  to  the  Pacific.  It 
passes  through  many  interesting  sections  of  Arizona, 
and  within  six  miles  of  the  Colorado  River  canon,  one 
of  the  deepest  and  widest  gorges  that  the  river  trav- 
erses. The  dark  walls  of  rock  rise  six  thousand  feet 
above  the  boiling  stream,  and  the  place  is  filled  with 
weird  lights  suggestive  of  Rembrandt. 

From  Peach  Springs  a  wagon  trail  leads  northward 
to  the  canon.  Climbing  low,  rock-strewn  ridges  and 
winding  around  the  bold  headlands,  marking  an  epoch 
of  wild  upheaval,  one  descends  at  last  to  the  level  of  the 


~6  WitJi  the  Invader; 

yellowish  stream  that  gallops  out  of  darkness  and 
bounds  away  into  fitful  shadows.  The  spot  is  sombre 
and  weird — a  gateway  to  infernal  regions.  High 
above  hang  the  darkened  cliffs,  untouched  by  sunlight, 
bare  and  drear.  Rumblings,  long  and  loud,  fill  the 
sunless  chasm,  and  past  one  rushes  the  river,  seething 
as  it  goes  and  full  of  angry  whirlpools  and  flecked  with 
foam. 

The  Colorado  is  formed  by  the  Grand  and  Green 
rivers,  rising  respectively  in  Wyoming  and  Colorado. 
For  a  distance  of  three  hundred  miles  it  runs  through 
a  canon  varying  in  depth  from  3000  to  6000  feet. 
Not  merely  along  the  stream  itself  is  there  this  abrupt- 
ly descending  gulf,  but  hundreds  of  lateral  cafions, 
some  furnishing  tributary  waters  to  the  great  river,  and 
others  perfectly  dry,  interlace  the  level  lands  for  miles. 

The  country  through  which  the  Colorado  passes  is 
in  the  main  level,  though  occasionally  low  mountain 
ranges  border  or  run  across  it.  Mountains  are  formed 
below  the  common  surface  of  the  earth,  with  their 
bases  three,  and  even  six  thousand  feet  beneath,  so 
that  the  whole  order  of  mountain  scenery  is  reversed. 
In  looking  over  the  face  of  the  country  one  imagines 
it  to  be  prairie.  A  mile  further  on  and  he  finds  him- 
self on  the  top  of  a  mountain,  beyond  which  are  a  suc- 
cession of  mountain  ranges,  and  thousands  of  feet 
below  streams  of  water,  drawn  like  ribbons  of  steel 
through  the  solid  rocks.  The  country  is  not  cut  into 
even,  angular  blocks  with  perfectly  upright  walls,  but 


Into  the  Heart  rf  the  Southwest.  77 

by  erosion,  and  the  wear  of  the  elements,  the  under- 
ground peaks  have  taken  the  most  unique  shapes,  rep- 
resenting every  conceivable  architectural  design,  and 
resembling  cities  grander  than  was  ever  conceived  by 
the  ingenuity  of  man.  The  effect  is  greatly  heightened 
by  the  brilliant  colors  that  nearly  all  these  rocks  dis- 
play, varying  from  brilliant  scarlet  to  the  purest  marble 
white. 

The  present  route  of  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific,  de- 
fined by  the  topography  of  the  country,  was  not  known 
to  the  Spanish  explorers.  They,  in  coming  north  by 
way  of  Sonora,  on  the  Gulf  of  California,  followed  the 
valleys  of  the  Yaqui  and  Gila  Rivers,  passed  near  the 
Indian  village  of  Zuni,  and  reached  the  Rio  Grande 
below  Albuquerque.  Even  as  late  as  1846,  General 
Kearney,  marching  to  the  conquest  of  California,  fol- 
lowed the  Rio  Grande  as  far  south  as  San  Marcial, 
and  worked  over  to  the  Gila  River;  while  his  quarter, 
master,  Captain  Cook,  took  his  trail  farther  south, 
going  by  Tucson. 

After  military  affairs  had  culminated  in  the  Pacific 
State,  Lieutenant  Beale  was  intrusted  with  dispatches 
for  Washington.  With  a  trusty  guide,  said  to  have 
been  Kit  Carson,  he  marched  eastward  by  the  Mojave 
River  Valley,  crossed  the  Colorado  near  Fort  Mojave, 
and,  feeling  his  way  through  valleys  and  ravines,  passed 
north  of  Williams'  Mountains,  then  south  of  the  San 
Francisco  range,  and  reached  the  Valley  of  the  Little 
Colorado,  near  the  present  town  of  Winston.     From 


y8  With  the  Invader. 


there  the  Puerco  Valley  was  but  a  natural  course  to 
take,  as  it  led  to  Coolidge  and  Laguna,  which  were 
within  easy  reach  of  the  Santa  Fe  trail. 

Lieutenant  Beale  was  so  deeply  impressed  with  the 
favorable  condition  of  the  route  he  had  traversed,  as 
an  overland  road  to  California,  that  he  applied  to  Con- 
gress for  an  appropriation  to  open  a  wagon  road  from 
Albuquerque  to  Los  Angeles.  He  was  successful,  and 
laid  out  what  soon  became  well  known  as  "  Beale's 
wagon  road."  In  1833-5,  when  a  survey  for  Pacific 
roads  was  made  under  Lieutenant  Whipple,  the  line 
approached  the  Rio  Grande  Valley  past  Santo  Do- 
mingo, and  from  Albuquerque  followed  Beale's  road 
to  Laguna,  reaching  the  Little  Colorado  by  way  of 
Zuni. 

In  1866  a  national  charter  was  granted  the  Atlantic 
Pacific,  but  no  surveys  were  made  until  1867,  when 
General  W.  J.  Palmer  made  a  survey  westward  from 
the  Rio  Grande  River,  with  the  idea  of  building  an 
extension  of  the  Kansas  Pacific  road.  The  plan  was 
abandoned,  however.  In  1880,  work  was  begun  again, 
and  the  road  was  completed  under  the  direction  of 
the  present  General  Manager.  In  1883  nearly  600 
miles  were  in  operation,  and  in  1884  the  Colorado 
river  was  crossed  and  a  new  trans-continental  line  es- 
tablished. During  the  present  fall  (1884)  the  Mojave 
division  of  the  Southern  Pacific  was  bought,  giving  a 
through  line  from  the  Missouri  to  San  Francisco. 

Western  New  Mexico  and  Northern  Arizona  are  pic- 


Into  the  Heart  of  (he  Southwest.  yp 

turesque  portions  of  the  southwest.  Cut  into  valleys, 
or  elevated  tablelands,  by  heavily  wooded  mountains 
they  contain  many  ancient  pueblos  inhabited  by  curious 
people,  whose  villages  ante-date  the  advent  of  the  ear- 
liest explorers.  Still  clinging  to  their  primitive  customs, 
the  pueblo  Indians  have  abandoned  whatever  predilec- 
tions they  may  have  entertained  for  war,  and  to-day  are 
a  pastoral  people. 

Laguna,  sixty  miles  west  from  Albuquerque,  is  one 
of  the  largest  pueblos,  and  is  built  on  the  crest  of  a 
high  rock  overlooking  a  narrow  valley.  Near  it  is 
Acoma,  also  located  high  above  the  surrounding  coun- 
try, and  reached  by  a  narrow,  winding  trail  that  follows 
a  natural  crevice  of  the  rock.  Standing  within  this 
fortified  village  of  curiously  constructed  houses  one 
looks  down  upon  a  vari-colored  valley,  and  far  away  to 
distant  mountain  heights,  with  wooded  slopes  and 
snowy  peaks.  The  neighboring  rocks,  bright  red  and 
yellow  and  silvery  gray,  lie  tossed  in  wild  confusion 
and  are  suggestive  of  huge  castles  and  stately  towers. 
The  view  is  extended,  varied  and  beautiful,  a  revelation 
to  first  observers,  and  ever  attractive  to  those  acquainted 
with  its  charms. 

North  of  Wingate  station  is  the  Navajo  reservation. 
The  Navajos  belong  to  the  Apache  nation,  and  are  an 
intelligent  and  industrious  people.  Formerly  on  the 
war-path  and  a  terror  to  all  neighbors,  they  have  lately 
made  rapid  progress  toward  civilization,  and  to-day 
number  about  15,000  and  own  considerable  property. 


So  With  the  Invader: 

They  live  in  huts,  made  of  boughs  and  earth,  and  are 
ingenious  manufacturers  of  rugs  and  blankets  of  native 
wool,  dyed  with  brilliant  colors.  Their  goods  are 
famous  for  durability  and  imperviousness  to  water. 

The  Zuni  village,  near  the  Navajo,  has  attained 
national  prominence  lately  through  Mr.  Cushing,  who 
has  lived  among  the  people  and  described  at  length 
their  peculiar  modes  of  life  and  the  strange  aspects  of 
the  town. 

The  Moqui  Indians,  whose  village  lies  near  that  of 
Zuni  and  Navajo,  are  the  only  people  able  to  decipher 
the  inscriptions  on  ancient  pottery  or  the  hieroglyphics 
on  the  cliffs.  Still  occupying  the  same  houses  in 
which  they  were  found  by  the  Spaniards,  they  cling 
tenaciously  to  their  primitive  customs,  and  lead  an 
interesting  though  prosaic  existence.  The  pueblo  is 
built  on  a  rocky  mesa  that  lies  six  hundred  feet  above 
the  valley,  and  the  houses  are  made  of  rough  stones 
plastered  with  mud,  and  extending  in  terraces  around  a 
central  plaza.  Like  their  neighbors,  the  Moquis,  they 
are  expert  manufacturers  of  blankets  and  pottery,  and 
have  accumulated  considerable  wealth,  represented  by 
sheep  and  cattle. 

Of  the  prehistoric  dwellings  in  Northern  Arizona 
those  found  in  the  cliffs  that  border  waterless  canons, 
and  in  lava  cones,  are  the  most  interesting  and  curious. 
Eight  miles  from  Flagstaff  a  mountain  of  lava,  rising  to 
a  height  of  some  six  hundred  feet,  contains  a  succes- 
sion of  cells  that  were  evidently  occupied  in  some  past 


Into  the  Heart  of  the  Southwest.  8r 

age.  The  dwellings  usually  consist  of  three  or  four 
apartments,  entered  through  a  hole  barely  large  enough 
to  admit  a  single  person.  The  first  chamber  is  the 
largest  of  the  suite  and  the  only  one  that  is  lighted. 
From  it  narrow  openings  lead  into  other  rooms,  floored 
with  dust,  in  which  are  buried  Indian  implements  of 
stone.  The  mountain  is  honeycombed  with  apart- 
ments, and  is  surmounted  by  a  wall  bearing  strong  re- 
semblance to  a  fortification,  and  which  was  possibly  a 
Spanish  defence  during  the  visit  of  the  explorers. 

Flagstaff  is  also  in  near  proximity  to  several  cliff 
dwellings  built  in  the  solid  walls  of  a  canon.  Though 
tenantless  to-day  the  huts  are  still  well  preserved,  and 
contain  many  relics  of  the  former  inhabitants.  There 
arc  several  canons  in  Arizona  containing  these  pre- 
historic homes,  and  their  presence  has  caused  much 
discussion.  That  they  formerly  stood  beside  deep 
rivers  seems  certain  from  the  strata  of  the  canons'  rock, 
which  everywhere  exhibits  the  mark  of  water.  That 
they  were  inhabited  by  a  people  familiar  with  many  arts 
is  evinced  by  the  presence  of  pottery,  bits  of  cloth  and 
matting  found  buried  in  the  dust  of  the  floors. 

The  canon  near  Flagstaff  is  deep  and  dry.  The 
walls  are  of  sandstone,  irregularly  stratified  near  the 
bottom,  but  which  are  traversed  higher  up  by  continu- 
ous lines  of  open,  horizontal  fissures  that  are  some  ten 
feet  wide  at  their  mouth  and  extend  fifteen  feet  into  the 
cliff.  At  the  outer  edge  of  the  overhanging  rock  stone 
walls  have  been  built,  closing  the  aperture,  and  division 


82  J  J  7///  the   Invader: 

walls  that  separate  the  enclosed  space  into  a  series  of 
rooms.  The  apartments  resemble  mud-swallow  nests 
and  are  almost  inaccessible.  The  entrances  are  small 
and  open  upon  narrow  ledges.  Crawling  into  these 
dark  abodes,  that  stand  so  silently  amid  their  wild  sur- 
roundings, one  questions  who  the  builders  were  and 
why  they  fled  their  homes.  He  who  shall  tell  the  story 
will  have  a  curious  tale. 

Nature  has  played  curious  tricks  with  Arizona.  Fresh 
and  beautiful  here,  it  is  dry  and  deserted  there.  At 
one  moment  in  the  midst  of  dense  forests,  one  at 
another  stands  where  there  are  mounds  of  lava  and 
oddly-fashioned  rocks.  But  at  all  times  the  coloring  is 
brilliant.  Red-tinged  boulders  rest  in  wastes  of  yellow 
sand ;  snowy  peaks  rise  high  above  dark  green  forests ; 
grasses  are  silvery  gray ;  canon  walls  are  vari-hued;  the 
sky  is  blue,  the  air  soft  and  yet  invigorating.  There  is 
a  medley  of  the  old  and  new.  Prehistoric  huts  stand 
beside  ancient  villages,  which  in  turn  are  crowded  by 
modern  houses  of  the  late  invaders. 

A  few  miles  south  of  Holbrook  is  a  petrified  forest. 
It  covers  nearly  2000  acres,  and  every  tree  and  shrub 
is  hardened  into  stone.  A  killing  hand  has  struck  the 
region.  Huge  trunks,  turned  to  solid  rock,  lie  upon  the 
ground  or  rest  one  upon  the  other.  Tender  twigs  and 
leaves  and  fallen  bits  of  bark  arc  lifeless.  The  spot  is 
weird  and  wild.  Birds  were  frozen  as  they  flew,  ani- 
mals as  they  ran.  The  transformation  was  sudden  and 
complete. 


Into  the  Heart  of  the  Southwest.  8j 

The  trees  arc  of  various  wood,  and  the  bark  and 
grain  are  well  preserved.  When  broken  die  trunks 
present  a  brilliant  crystalline  appearance,  and  many 
are  agatized.  Cut  and  polished,  the  wood  is  I 
colored  and  the  grain  distinctly  seen.  Some  of  the 
are  hollow  and  filled  with  purest  crystals,  vary- 
ing from  white  to  richest  amethyst  in  color,  while 
others  are  solid  and  often  measure  a  hundred  feet  in 
length.  One  log  of  solid  petrifaction  that  has  fallen 
across  a  canon  is  ioo  feet  in  length  and  five  feet  in 
thickness,  and  forms  a  natural  bridge  across  the  deep 
ravine.  Beneath  the  ground  are  giant  trunks  weighing 
many  tons,  and  the  forest  is  filled  with  petrifactions. 

Below  Albuquerque  the  Rio  Grande  Valley  extends 
nearly  due  southward  for  two  hundred  miles,  then 
eastward  eighty  miles  to  El  Paso,  in  Northwestern 
Texas.  Never,  until  nearing  the  end  of  its  long 
course,  a  deep  stream,  the  Rio  Grande  waters  an 
extended  area  of  country,  and  sections  of  its  valley,  ly- 
ing between  El  Paso  and  Albuquerque,  have  been  cul- 
tivated for  centuries.  The  soil  is  composed  of  silicious 
matter,  and  the  muddy  waters  are  carried  by  irrigating 
ditches  over  the  low-lying  fields.  The  river  is  the  Nile 
of  the  southwest,  furnishing  a  rich  supply  of  fertilizing 
ingredients  and  often  overflowing  its  banks 

Albuquerque  is  on  the  dividing  line  between  the 
grazing  fields  and  the  mineral  regions  of  New  Mexico. 
Beyond  it  the  Rio  Grande  extends  through  a  mass  of 
mountains  which  have  yielded  and  continue  to  yield 
large  amounts  of  precious  metals. 


84  With  the  Invader: 

The  country,  unfortunately,  enjoyed  a  few  years  ago 
an  excitement  unwarranted  by  developments,  and  at 
present  is  comparatively  dull.  From  1878  to  1882 
new  and  valuable  discoveries  were  made  so  frequently 
that  great  expectations  arose.  Towns  sprang  into  ex- 
istence without  reason,  and  property  commanded  prices 
past  all  real  value.  To-day  business  has  become  more 
equalized,  and  values  more  properly  apportioned.  The 
excitement  is  over,  but  development  continues.  With 
the  present  amount  of  knowledge  regarding  the  actual 
wealth  existing  one  cannot  begin  to  foretell  the  future 
of  the  region.  Prospecting  has  been  but  desultory.  A 
comparatively  limited  area  has  been  examined.  Mines 
not  proving  bonanzas  at  once  have  been  passed  by. 
Capital  has  sought  large  returns  rather  than  sure  ones. 
There  has  been  too  much  speculation  and  not  enough 
patience;  too  many  swindles  and  too  little  honesty. 

But  Southern  New  Mexico  is  only  seemingly  dead. 
It  is  still  plodding  toward  certain  wealth.  Metropoli 
have  settled  into  towns  and  cities  have  realized  they  are 
but  villages.  There  is  more  systematic  mining  at  pres- 
ent than  ever  before.  The  next  noteworthy  advance- 
ments will  be  more  lasting  because  better  warranted. 
The  metals  are  in  the  ranges,  and  it  is  only  a  question 
of  time  when  they  shall  be  discovered. 

And  when  the  country  attains  the  position  its  natural 
wealth  entitles  it  to  the  Rio  Grande  Valley,  and  the 
level  lands  bordering  smaller  streams,  will  prove  their 
power  to  produce.     Already  they  are  being  cultivated, 


Into  tlii-  Heart  of  the  Soul  Incus!.  Sj 


and  the  climate  and  soil  insure  a  rich  and  abundant 
growth.  Fruit  trees  and  vines  especially  thrive.  The 
grape-growing  belt  extends  in  the  Rio  Grande  Valley 
from  Bernalillo  County,  around  Wallace,  to  the  Texas 
line,  at  El  Paso.  In  it  are  thousands  of  arable  acres. 
It  is  a  natural  garden,  watered,  protected  and  level. 

Practically  knowing  no  winter,  for  snow  is  rarely 
seen  in  it,  the  valley  is  never  bare  or  dreary.  In  early 
spring  the  grasses  cover  the  confining  hills,  the  river  is 
full  of  swiftly  moving  waters,  and  the  air  is  laden  with 
the  perfume  of  blossoming  fruit  trees.  Above  the  blue 
of  distant  heights  lie  banks  of  pure  white  snow ;  the 
fields  are  being  tilled ;  Lower  New  Mexico  is  at  its 
best.  Vast,  boldly  outlined,  filled  with  strange  sights 
and  peculiar  people,  it  appeals  strongly  to  the  imagina- 
tion. There  is  a  picture  of  gradual  development. 
Hitherto  neglected  fields  are  being  reclaimed ;  modern 
styled  houses  stand  beside  ancient  adobe  ones ;  red- 
blanketed  Indians  mingle  with  the  strangers  who  have 
entered  their  native  country.  The  old  is  not  obliter- 
ated, but  remains  to  lend  emphasis  to  the  new. 

Turning  sharply  eastward,  near  Rincon,  the  Rio 
Grande  escapes  from  its  narrower  valley  and  enters  a 
level  country,  containing  the  towns  of  Las  Cruces  and 
'.Mrssilla.  The  villages  are  old  and  built  mostly  of 
adobe.  With  a  mixed  population  of  Mexicans  and 
Americans,  they  stand  in  the  center  of  a  rich  agricul- 
tural section,  surrounded  by  low-browed  hills,  and  in  the 
midst  of  vineyards  and  orchards.     There  are  200,000 


86  With  tJie  Invader. 


acres  of  grape  land  in  the  valleys,  and  the  Mission 
grape  is  grown  in  large  quantities.  Land  is  valued 
at  from  $5  to  $2000  per  acre,  as  it  is  improved  or  unim- 
proved, and  the  popular  belief  is  that  five  acres  put  in 
vineyards,  and  properly  cultivated,  will  yield  a  revenue 
sufficient  to  support  a  family. 

The  Mission  grape  vine  was  introduced  into  New 
Mexico  by  the  Franciscan  Fathers.  It  still  flourishes 
in  California,  and  around  Las  Cruces  is  particularly 
prevalent,  and  affords  a  delicious  fruit  and  a  wine  1  \ 
excellent  quality.  From  the  town  the  vineyards  stretch 
far  away  toward  the  hills,  and  remind  one  of  scenes 
along  the  Rhine,  where  green  leaves  half  hide  the  juicy 
fruits. 

The  method  of  growing  grapes  in  New  Mexico  is 
purely  local.  The  vineyards  are  usually  started  from 
cuttings,  though  a  few  growers  use  trenches  until  the 
root  is  well  started.  During  the  first  three  years  atten- 
tion is  mainly  directed  to  giving  strength  to  the  trunk, 
so  that  staking  or  trellising  need  not  be  required.  All 
superfluous  growth  is  continually  cut  away,  the  trunk 
and  a  few  short  branches  only  being  allowed  to  remain. 
This  throws  all  the  strength  and  nourishment  into  the 
body  of  the  plant,  so  that  in  a  few  years  it  is  thick  and 
stout,  closely  resembling  a  dwarf  tree. 

"When  the  cutting  is  first  set  out,  the  soil  is  closely 
packed  about  it,  and  the  water  from  the  irrigating  ditch 
turned  on.  Nothing  is  done  the  first  year  except  to 
keep  the  plant  well  watered  and  clear  the  vineyard  of 


Tnto  the  I  hart  of  the  Southwest.  S1/ 


weeds.  In  November  it  is  covered  with  dirt  and  straw. 
The  time  for  uncovering  varies  with  different  growers 
some  commencing  as  early  as  the  middle  of  February, 
while  others  wait  until  April.  After  the  lapse  of  from 
ten  days  to  a  month  the  plant  is  trimmed,  and  the  pro- 
cess of  the  previous  year  repeated. 

But  few  grapes  will  be  produced  until  the  third 
season,  but  the  labor  of  the  cultivator  is  increased  each 
succeeding  year  in  removing  the  weeds  and  suckers, 
staking  where  needed,  trimming,  covering  and  uncov- 
ering. After  the  fourth  year  the  vines  will  be  loaded 
with  grapes. 

Every  vine  of  Las  Cruces  is  estimated  to  yield  from 
two  to  three  gallons  of  wine,  worth  usually  one  dollar 
per  gallon.  By  planting  them  eight  feet  apart  each 
way,  there  would  be  680  vines  to  the  acre,  which  should 
yield  1360  gallons.  Every  year  sees  an  increased  num- 
ber of  acres  planted,  and  it  is  proposed  to  settle  the 
valley  with  colonists.  The  soil  and  climate  are  partic- 
ularly favorable,  and  the  region  has  an  abundant  sup- 
ply of  water. 


CHAPTER  V. 
A  Mexican  Metropolis'. 

WITH  its  gardens  overlooking  the  yellow  waters  of 
the  Rio  Grande,  and  bordering  the  banks  of  that 
shallow  stream  for  a  distance  of  six  miles  below  the 
dividing  line  of  Texas  and  New  Mexico,  stands  the 
little  town  of  El  Paso  del  Norte.  Snugly  ensconced 
at  the  gateway  opening  into  old  Mexico,  and  enjoying 
the  dual  reputation  of  being  very  old  and  picturesque, 
it  offers  little  evidence  of  its  existence,  but  hides  be- 
neath the  cottonwood  trees,  as  though  fearful  of  dis- 
covery. 

Even  from  El  Paso,  a  modern  village  created  by 
the  railways,  Del  Norte,  though  only  across  the  river, 
still  refuses  to  disclose  itself,  and  the  only  object  sug- 
gesting its  existence  is  the  whitewashed  tower  of  a  ca- 
thedral that  rises  above  the  tree-tops  and  stands  closely 
outlined  against  the  distant  hills.  Beyond  it  stretch  the 
sandy  levels  of  old  Mexico,  dotted  with  coarse  grasses, 
while  between  it  and  El  Paso  runs  the  Rio  Grande. 

Were  it  not  for  the  groves  of  Del  Norte,  the  coun- 
try around  the  gateway  to  Mexico  would  have  but 
little  attractiveness.  But  they  relieve  the  monotony  of 
sandy  plains  and  the  dull  covering  of  the  surrounding 
hills,  and  are  as  refreshing  as  oases  in  the  desert.    Look- 


A  Mexican  Metropolis.  89 


ing  at  them,  one  grows  impatient  to  cross  the  river  to 
their  cool  shade  and  to  the  narrow  streets  bordered 
by  rows  of  adobe  houses,  which  lead  about  the  city. 

El  Paso  del  Norte  will  very  likely  never  be  larger 
than  it  is  to-day.  The  town  will  be  slow  to  alter  its 
settled  ways  of  living,  or  to  adopt  the  new  ideas  intro- 
duced by  that  civilization  which  has  pressed  down 
upon  it  with  the  advent  of  the  railways.  Simple,  un- 
ambitious and  pretty,  it  is  now,  and  probably  ever  will 
be,  the  home  of  contented  people,  living  in  and  for 
their  gardens,  and  heedless  of  the  new  and  larger 
towns  springing  up  around  them.  El  Paso  will  be- 
come a  metropolis  before  Del  Norte  has  a  thousand 
people  added  to  its  population;  but  still  the  new  ar- 
rival will  not  cease  to  look  to  its  neighbor  for  fruits 
ami  vegetables.  Del  Norte,  in  fact,  will  continue  to 
be  what  it  is  to-day,  the  park,  garden  and  suburb  of 
El  Paso. 

A  resident  of  Del  Norte  has  profound  contempt  for 
El  Paso.  The  new  town  to  him  is  an  interloper,  a 
parvenu,  a  bubble  blown  into  existence  by  railways. 
According  to  his  idea,  El  Paso  is  a  place  of  worry  and 
undue  haste,  where  there  is  no  sweet  siesta  to  break 
the  monotony  of  the  day.  Del  Norte  is  not  jealous  of 
El  Paso's  growth,  but  pities  rather  than  envies,  seeing 
but  little  in  the  new  town  to  admire,  and  wondering, 
in  a  dull  sort  of  way,  why  the  place  has  come  at  all, 
and  v,  hat  its  future  is  to  be. 

Before  the  Americanos  came,  Del  Norte  was  idealic 


po  With  the  Invader. 


and  individual.  Its  people  knew  nothing  beyond  fete 
days  and  an  occasional  bull-fight,  and  saw  but  few 
strangers.  Now  the  new-comers  have  introduced  a 
horse-car  line  into  the  town,  and  built  stations  and  a 
railway  bridge  over  the  river,  and  have  made  overtures 
to  buy  gardens  that  were  legacies  for  years. 

And  yet  it  is  rather  sad  to  notice  the  alteration  that 
is  forced  upon  the  old  city.  It  seems  a  pity  to  force  a 
change  upon  it  or  allow  an  upstart  rival  to  overpower 
and  eclipse  it.  Forgetting  business,  and  the  fact  that 
progress  must  be  made  in  this,  the  century  of  advance- 
ment, one  cannot  but  wish  that  the  old  might  have 
staid  a  little  longer,  and  that  quaint  cities — American 
Nurembergs,  as  we  may  call  them — might  have  retained 
their  primitiveness  and  been  safe  from  horse-car  inva- 
sions and  modern  implements.  But  regrets  are  use- 
less, and  the  old  must  be  displaced  by  the  new,  and 
Del  Norte  is  not  alone  among  the  cities  that  our  rail- 
ways are  reconstructing  and  changing  beyond  all  rec- 
ognition. 

El  Paso  has  grown  too  rapidly  to  be  attractive.  It 
resembles  an  overgrown  boy,  strong  and  vigorous,  but 
loosely  put  together.  With  a  population  of  5,000  peo- 
ple, whose  advent  has  been  within  the  past  three  years? 
the  city  is  a  busy  railway  centre,  and  devoted  to  mak- 
ing money.  At  it  the  Atchison  road  ends  and  the 
Mexican  Central  begins.  The  meeting  place  of  such 
highways  insures  present  and  future  importance.  If 
business  between  the  two  republics  increases,  El  Paso 


A  Mexican  Metropolis.  pi 

will  be  benefited  accordingly.  It  is  a  natural  central- 
ize^ the  fact  being  attested  by  the  large  wholesale  houses 
that  are  present,  and  by  the  banks  which  have  been 
opened. 

The  climate  is  generally  salubrious,  though  at  times 
the  clear  days  are  made  the  reverse  by  sand  storms  gen- 
erated in  the  vicinity.  There  is  a  mixed  population  at 
present,  and  Spanish  signs  are  as  plentiful  as  English. 
But  with  the  foreign  aspects  there  exist  sufficient  Amer- 
icanisms, and  the  people  are  western  to  the  core,  ener- 
getic and  wide  awake.  They  have  transformed  the 
original  village,  and  by  their  tireless  energy  are  likely 
to  make  El  Paso  a  city  of  wealth  and  importance. 

One  likes  and  dislikes  El  Paso.  But  if  it  irritates  at 
times  with  its  freshness,  the  town  across  the  river  never 
does.  Del  Norte  is  a  healing  balsam  to  the  blister  of 
El  Paso.  One  goes  there  and  rests  because  the  place 
is  restful.  As  George  Sand  would  say,  the  perfume  of 
the  flowers  penetrates  the  mind  as  well  as  the  bodily 
organ.  There  is  not  much  to  see  in  the  way  of 
historical  buildings,  but  there  are  cool  placitas 
and  shaded  streets,  and  flowers  without  limit  that 
climb  over  the  walls  and  fill  deep-set  windows  and 
trail  over  ancient  doorways. 

Leaving  El  Paso  and  crossing  the  river,  either  by 
the  boat,  still  pushed  from  shore  to  shore  by  a  swarthy- 
faced  Mexican,  or  by  the  bridge,  which  spans  the  cur- 
rent, one  steps  upon  Mexican  soil  and  into  the  quiet 
of  Del  Norte  at  the  same  time.     Wandering  up  a  long, 


Q2  With  the  Invader. 


narrow  street,  dusty,  unpaved,  and  lined  with  adobe 
houses,  the  way  leads  at  last  into  the  center  of  the 
town  and  to  the  plaza  and  cathedral.  Yet  even  here 
there  is  general  listlessness.  Beneath  the  trees  of  the 
little  square,  around  which  are  the  shops  of  the  city,  a 
few  people  are  assembled,  and  in  the  doorways  men  sit 
with  a  wistful  innocence  that  their  after  extortions  in 
trade  belie. 

In  its  early  days  the  plaza  was  lively  enough,  how- 
ever. Then  wide,  stone  seats  were  scattered  about  it, 
and  tables,  loaded  with  fruits  and  drink,  were  set 
beneath  the  trees.  There  people  gathered  to  do  their 
dailv  marketing,  and  there  on  fete  days  the  showy  pa- 
geants of  the  church  were  held.  But  to-day  the  benches 
are  gone,  and  the  people  go  across  the  river  to  sell  and 
purchase  goods,  and  the  square  has  drawn  into  its 
shell,  like  a  snail,  and  gives  but  little  sign  of  life.  Yet 
the  cathedral  remains,  stately  as  of  old,  and  holding  in 
its  high  tower  a  trio  of  bells  of  Spanish  brass,  and  to 
the  open  doorway,  facing  the  square,  worshipers  con- 
tinue to  wander. 

The  first  mission  at  Del  Norte  was  established  in 
1585  by  Padre  Ruiz,  one  of  the  Franciscan  monks. 
Later,  the  colony  was  presided  over  by  Ohate.  The 
cathedral  was  finished  a  little  over  a  century  ago,  and 
while  its  whitened,  adobe  walls  are  time-stained,  they 
are  still  strong,  and  the  interior  is  full  of  deep  shadows. 
Overhead,  the  carved  beams  are  stained  dark  with  age, 
and  birds  have  built  their  nests  among  them,  while  the 


A  Mexican  Metropolis.  pj 

heavy  doors,  swinging  on  their  huge  Spanish  hinges, 
are  scarred  and  cracked.  In  the  chapel  are  heavily 
bound  books  of  parchment,  filled  with  the  writings  of 
long-dead  padres,  as  legible  to-day  as  a  hundred  years 
ago,  and  banners  of  gold  and  velvet,  brought  to  the 
cathedral  by  the  fathers  who  have  "gone  on  before." 

Before  leaving  Del  Norte,  after  wandering  about  its 
gardens,  where  men  and  women  are  at  work  tending 
the  vegetables,  and  where  there  are  thatched-roofed 
cottages,  with  doves  fluttering  around  them,  and  vistas 
of  green  trees,  brown  walls  and  bright  flowers,  one 
should  go  to  the  cathedral  tower.  Climbing  the  creak- 
ing stairway  that  leads  into  the  airy  belfry,  and  stand- 
ing beneath  the  old  bells  hung  by  thongs  of  hide  to 
heavy  beams  above,  Del  Norte  is  spread  out  at  one's 
feet,  and  down  the  wide  valley,  full  of  ever-changing 
colors,  runs  the  Rio  Grande  toward  its  distant  sea. 
There  reach  the  pointed  mountains,  haze-obscured  and 
grand;  there  lie  the  sandy  wastes,  making  an  inland  sea. 
There  is  a  wealth  of  coloring — the  brown  walls  of. the 
town,  the  white-faced  cottages,  the  brilliant  flowers,  the 
green  gardens,  the  blue-tinged  peaks  and  the  yellow 
plains.  Behind  the  church  appear  the  barracks  of  the 
city  and  a  dreary  prison,  while  across  the  Rio  Grande, 
El  Paso  rises  into  sight,  its  frame  houses  and  red-brick 
blocks  manifesting  the  new  life  that  has  so  lately  crowded 
down  upon  the  city  of  Del  Norte,  embowered  in  trees, 
nestling  beside  the  great  river  of  the  north. 

Looking  southward  into  old  Mexico  from  El  Paso 


94 


With  the  Invader: 


del  Norte,  there  is  given  little  evidence  of  that  wealth 
which  has  tempted  railways  into  the  Republic.  Away 
from  the  Rio  Grande,  the  State  of  Chihuahua,  clown 
which  the  Mexican  Central  extends  to  the  City  of 
Mexico,  is  dry  and  unattractive.  Far  as  the  eye  can 
see,  a  mass  of  yellow  sand  lies  glistening  in  the  strong 
sunlight,  tossed  into  rills  and  billows,  by  the  winds  that 
sweep  over  the  region,  and  as  devoid  of  trees  as  the 
Desert  of  Sahara.  Once  among  the  low-lying  dunes, 
rolling  about  one  like  the  waves  of  an  ocean,  the  cot- 
tonwoods  of  Del  Norte  form  the  only  exception  to  the 
monotonous  coloring.  For  eighty  miles  the  railway 
pursues  its  uninteresting  course.  One  escapes  from 
civilization  to  a  desert. 

Chihuahua  contains  100,000  square  miles  of  terri- 
tory and  has  a  population  of  200,000.  Naturally  one 
of  the  richest  states  in  the  Republic,  having  valuable 
gold,  silver,  copper  and  iron  mines,  its  grazing  area 
supports  thousands  of  cattle,  and  many  of  the  towns 
are  large  and  important.  Beyond  the  sandy  portions 
of  the  State,  occupying  its  northeastern  limits,  the  ara- 
ble country  is  encountered.  Watered  by  rivers  and 
small  lakes,  and  guarded  on  the  west  by  the  Sierra 
Madre  Mountains,  it  is  divided  into  extended  ranches, 
and  is  literally  covered  with  cattle. 

Nor  is  the  State  without  its  scenic  attractions. 
Once  away  from  the  sands,  the  Mexican  Central, 
closely  following  the  old  wagon  road  between  El  Paso 
and  Chihuahua,  enters  an  elevated  valley,  formed  by 


A  Mexican  Metropolis.  95 

the  Sierra  Madre  on  the  one  side,  and  a  range  of  low- 
lying  hills  on  the  other.  Here  grasses  are  encoun- 
tered and  haciendas  passed,  having  strong  resemblance, 
with  their  houses  and  huge  corrals,  to  thriving  towns. 
Before  one  stretches  the  valley,  mountain-guarded, 
and  seemingly  without  limit,  while  around  are  the  blue 
and  brown  Sierras,  cut  into  fantastic  shapes  and  pene- 
trated by  gloomy  canons. 

The  region  is  delightfully  fresh  and  cool.  At  the 
various  stations,  broad-hatted  Mexicans  peer  into  the 
windows  of  one's  car,  or  are  seated  on  their  little  mus- 
tangs, keeping  guard  over  their  grazing  herds.  For 
nearly  two  hundred  miles,  and  until  the  Chihuahua 
house-tops  become  visible,  only  the  grassy  plains  are 
present.  The  valley  is  a  wide,  long  field,  green  in 
spring-time,  brown  in  summer.  A  few  years  ago  far 
removed  from  civilization,  and  the  scene  of  many  an 
Apache  raid,  it  to-day  is  on  the  highway  leading 
through  Central  Mexico,  from  republic  to  republic. 

Evening  shadows  filled  the  valley  when  we  ap- 
proached Chihuahua.  In  the  distance,  the  mountain 
ranges  loomed  against  the  star-lit  sky.  Out  in  the 
fields,  scattered  camp-fires  gleamed  brightly  through 
the  gathering  darkness.  Later  on,  adobe  huts,  lighted 
by  pines  burning  on  open  hearths,  lined  the  road,  and 
beyond  them,  gathered  upon  a  mountain  side,  shone 
the  stardike  lights  of  Chihuahua. 

Leaving  the  train,  and  boarding  an  American  omni- 
bus, we  drove  across  a  shallow  creek,  past  scattered 


g6  With  the  Invader: 

houses,  and  into  long,  narrow  streets,  lined  with  adobe 
walls  or  flat-roofed  houses,  to  a  brilliantly  lighted 
square  lying  in  the  heart  of  the  city.  Greeted  in 
Spanish,  paying  reals  and  pesos,  looking  upon  a  plaza 
that  had  not  yet  been  Americanized,  we  realized  that 
we  were  in  a  foreign  country,  amid  strange  sights  and 
lands.  The  introduction,  with  its  attendant  lights  and 
music,  was  satisfactory.  Mexico  did  not,  for  the  mo- 
ment at  least,  belie  its  reputation.  It  was  quaint,  cu- 
rious and  fascinating. 

Visit  Chihuahua  only  for  a  day,  and  one  will  be- 
lieve that  the  city  consists  of  a  cathedral,  a  plaza  and 
a  succession  of  narrow  streets,  that  radiate  in  every 
direction,  from  the  church.  For  the  cathedral  is 
proportionately  larger  than  the  city,  and  overpowers  it, 
and  one  never  loses  sight  of  the  towers.  As  for  the 
plaza,  it  is  omnipresent,  too,  for  at  it  every  street  be- 
gins, and  in  it  is  whatever  life  there  is  in  the  city. 
Regarding  the  streets,  they  are  narrow,  diminutive  and 
numerous,  and  form  a  veritable  network  over  the  town, 
and  are  ever  entertaining,  with  their  burros,  shops, 
oddly-dressed  people  and  candy-stands,  presided  over 
by  gray  and  wrinkled  matrons,  selling  sweets  for  cop- 
per tlacos. 

The  situation  of  Chihuahua  is  commanding.  In 
front  of  it  runs  the  valley  of  the  Rio  Conchos, 
winding  past  a  range  of  bluish  mountains,  and  behind 
the  town  are  other  hills,  with  brown-hued  sides.  The 
ranges  are  bare  of  trees,  but  in  the  valley,  cottonwoods 


A  Mexican  Metropolis. 


97 


line  the  banks  of  the  river,  and  green  groves  cluster 
about  white-walled  cottages.  Away  in  one  direction, 
toward  the  north,  the  valley  extends  far  as-  the  eye  can 
see,  but  in  the  south,  mountains  of  varying  height  and 
form  lie  heaued  together  in  wild  disorder. 


CATHEDRAL  TOWERS. 

Free  of  clouds  a  greater  portion  of  the  year,  the  sky 
over  Chihuahua  is  clear  and  blue,  and  is  filled  during 
the  day  with  a  warm,  bright  sunlight  that  floods  the  val- 
ley and  throws  long  shadows  on  the  mountain  sides;  and 


y8  WitJi  the  Invader: 

at  night  the  stars  shining  in  it  are  as  brilliant  as  choice 
gems.  Robbed  of  its  other  attractions,  but  retaining 
the  climate  of  its  table  lands,  Mexico  would  never  want 
admirers.  At  the  same  elevation  which  the  City  of 
Mexico  and  Chihuahua  enjoy — 5000  to  7000  feet 
above  sea  level — the  air  is  warm  but  bracing,  and  the 
breezes  ever  dry  and  yet  refreshing.  Existence  is  a 
pleasure.  All  nature  is  brightened,  and  colors  intensi- 
fied. There  is  invigoration  without  excitement;  the 
warm  sensuousness  of  the  south  with  the  vitality  of  the 
north. 

Chihuahua  is  interesting,  not  because  of  its  age, 
although  founded  in  1604,  but  rather  from  its  close 
resemblance  to  Spanish  cities,  and  because  of  the  life 
existing  in  it.  Whatever  its  appearance  was  in  1604, 
it  to-day  is  Spanish  in  construction,  and  the  language 
of  that  country  is  heard  upon  the  streets.  During  the 
power  of  Spain  Chihuahua  expanded,  but  did  nothing 
after  the  Spaniards  left.  It  had  no  ambition,  appar- 
ently, and  was  satisfied  with  itself  and  with  the  world. 
The  result  of  this  apathy  is  now  apparent.  The  town 
is  ancient  far  beyond  its  years.  More  than  two  cen- 
turies old,  parts  of  it  appear  still  older.  There  is  anti- 
quity written  everywhere.  Even  the  aqueducts,  which 
the  Spaniards  built  into  the  valley  to  supply  the  town 
with  water,  do  not  seem  much  younger  than  those  of 
Rome,  and  as  for  the  cathedral  and  the  old  walls  pro- 
tecting the  various  gardens,  they  are  time-stained, 
crumbling  and  antiquated. 


A  Mexican  Metropolis.  pp 

It  is  a  relief  to  find  so  much  mellowness.  Santa  ¥6 
introduced  the  liking  for  the  old,  and  Chihuahua  whets 
the  appetite.  Did  one  not  know  the  city  existed  in 
Mexico,  he  might  easily  believe  it  to  be  in  Europe. 
There  are  the  same  vine-clad  walls  and  flower-choked 
gardens  and  quaint  balconies;  and  the  people  dress, 
speak  and  live  much  as  do  their  cousins  whom  we  cross 
an  ocean  to  visit. 

A  stranger  perhaps  will  not  be  greatly  impressed  with 
Chihuahua  at  first  sight.  It  does  not  reveal  the  whole 
of  itself  at  once.  Like  Venice,  it  has  to  be  known 
intimately.  The  plaza  is  the  Grand  Canal  in  attract- 
iveness; but  the  plaza  is  not  all  there  is.  If  he  knows 
where  to  seek,  one  may  find  many  a  by-path  that  has 
a  picturesqueness  all  its  own,  and  many  a  quiet  garden 
where  fountains  are  splashing,  and  cool,  wide  balconies 
look  down  upon  sweet-smelling  flowers. 

In  such  retreats  the  foreign  flavor  predominates. 
They  are  fragments  of  the  Old  World,  washed  across 
the  Atlantic  to  the  table-lands  of  Mexico.  Leave  the 
street,  pass  through  a  doorway,  leading  beneath  an 
adobe  arch,  and  one  finds  the  garden,  cool,  fragrant 
and  restful.  Children  with  big,  black  eyes  are  playing 
on  the  well-swept  walks;  a  senorita  is  busy  with  her 
guitar ;  doves  are  cooing  on  their  nests  under  the  bal- 
cony; the  fountain  jets  upward  from  the  plants  around 
it  to  the  sunlight  that  falls  over  the  casa.  Above  is  the 
deep-blue  sky;  around  one,  the  winter  roses.  Cold 
and  barren  in  the  north,  it  is  summer  and  sunshine 


ioo  With  the  Invader: 

here.     Windows  are  open  in  January;  birds  are  ever 
present. 

Nor  is  one's  pleasure  in  Chihuahua  marred  by  guides. 
There  are  no  set  rules  of  procedure.  One  may  wan- 
der where  he  will.  There  is  the  Alameda,  with  its 
double  row  of  trees  and  twin  streams  of  water,  leading 
from  the  city  to  the  country;  the  church  of  Guada- 
lupe, with  whitened  walls  and  dome,  from  which  the 
city  is  visible,  and  around  which  lie  the  farms;  the  aque- 
duct, still  bringing  water  from  the  river  to  town,  and 
through  whose  arches  appear  the  cathedral  towers  or 
the  dome  of  San  Francisco;  and  the  climb  to  distant 
hill-tops,  with  their  view  of  the  valley  and  distant  heights 
of  Central  Mexico.  There  is  little  that  is  grand,  but 
much  that  is  picturesque  and  novel.  Adobe  supplants 
marble  and  granite,  but  the  designs  are  good,  and  time 
has  colored  all  things  harmoniously. 

Day  is  ushered  into  Chihuahua  by  the  clanging  of 
the  cathedral  bells.  Coming  with  early  risers,  on  their 
way  to  mass,  to  the  plaza,  one  finds  the  city  all  astir. 
Across  the  little  square  hurry  a  promiscuous  throng. 
There  a  ranchero,  early  into  town  with  his  load  of  fruit, 
moves  bareheaded  to  the  church,  greasy,  but  devout ; 
and  at  his  side  walks  a  senora,  her  dress  sweeping  be- 
hind, and  the  graceful  mantilla  covering  her  head. 
The  rich  or  the  poor,  the  peon,  the  Indian,  the  mer- 
chant, and  the  beggar  obey  the  summons  of  the  bell. 
Men  leave  their  burros  and  hurry  to  their  prayers ;  the 
sweeper  drops  his  broom  to  pray.     Caste  is  forgotten. 


A  Mexican  Metropolis.  IOI 

The  day  has  begun,  and  during  mass  the  ragged  and 
the  richly  clothed  are  gathered  together. 

There  are  three  places  in  Chihuahua  which  soon 
become  favorite  haunts  —  the  market,  the  cathedral, 
and  the  plaza.  All  are  within  short  distance  of  each 
other,  and  in  them  centres  the  life  of  the  town.  The 
market  is  open  from  early  morning  until  late  at  night, 
and,  except  at  noon,  when  every  Mexican  takes  his 
siesta,  the  multitudinous  wares  are  lustily  called  and 
eagerly  offered  for  sale  by  cigarette-smoking  proprietors 
squatting  on  bits  of  matting  spread  beside  their  goods. 

The  market  place  is  an  enclosure  formed  by  four 
whitewashed  walls,  and  is  entered  from  the  street 
through  arched  doorways.  Outside  the  walls,  filled 
with  diminutive  booths,  stand  rows  of  patient  burros, 
their  heads  obstructing  the  narrow  sidewalk,  and  their 
bodies  filling  the  street.  Quaint  beasts  of  burden  they 
are,  these  donkeys,  browsy-coated,  prone  to  deceit, 
patient  amid  all  their  hardships.  Every  Mexican  owns 
one,  every  city  is  filled  with  them.  Sure-footed  and 
strong,  they  march  into  town  at  daybreak  loaded  with 
produce,  and  stand  all  day  blinking  in  the  hot  sun- 
shine, fully  satisfied  with  the  thought  of  eating. 

Passing  through  one  of  the  arched  entrances  the 
market  proper  is  reached.  The  place  is  a  second  Bed- 
lam. In  every  direction  are  heaped  the  goods — pot- 
tery and  onions,  cigars  and  cabbages,  cheap  fruits  and 
cheaper  jewelry,  fowl  and  beans.  Harsh  and  shrill 
voices  are  heard  on  every  side ;  packing  and  unpack- 


102 


Willi  the  Invader. 


ing  is  going  briskly  on;  tlacos  are  jingling;  women  and 
boys  are  eating,  sorting,  laughing,  busily  engaged  about 
the  minor  details  of  their  work.  Confusion  reigns. 
Every  one  is  alert  for  trade.  Gay  colors,  dark  faces, 
brilliant  eyes,  supple  forms,  and  flowers  of  every  hue 
abound 

And  yet  one  cannot  repress  a  feeling  of  sadness  as 
he  looks  upon  the  scene.  The  purchases  are  so  small; 
all  buy  so  carefully;  every  ilaco  is  counted  before  it 
leaves  the  owner.  Pitiful  allowances  of  food  are  taken 
home  by  the  senoras—a.  half-dozen  potatoes,  a  handful 
of  onions,  an  ounce  of  beef !  Goodness  knows  how 
body  and  soul  are  kept  together,  and  yet  the  one  pleas- 
ure that  the  people  have  is  going  to  market,  and  the 
fact  of  there  being  old  men  and  women  in  Mexico 
proves  that  some  of  our  fellow  creatures,  at  least,  can 
live  upon  less  than  would  satisfy  any  class  outside  that 
found  in  Cairo  or  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile. 

The  cathedral  is  not  only  the  most  conspicuous 
building  in  Chihuahua,  but  is  the  largest  and  most 
celebrated.  The  architecture  is  decidedly  Moorish, 
and  the  church,  finished  a  century  ago,  is  a  fine  old 
specimen  of  adobe  and  stucco.  It  stands  facing  the 
plaza  and  the  facade,  bordered  on  either  side  by  two 
high  towers,  is  covered  with  carvings  and  filled  with 
niches  holding  time-scarred  images  of  the  twelve  Apos- 
tles. Over  the  doorway  is  an  illuminated  clock  with  a 
dull-sounding  bell,  on  which  the  hours  and  quarter- 
hours  arc  struck  throughout  the  day,  and  in  the  towers, 


A  Mexican  Metropolis.  ioj 

tapering  gradually  to  carved  crosses,  hang  half  a  dozen 
hells,  which  call  worshipers  to  church,  or  give  loud 
peals  on  fete  days.  During  Maximilian's  attack  on  the 
city  a  cannon  ball  went  through  one  of  the  bells  for  a 
pastime,  somewhat  destroying  its  tone,  but  the  others 
are  as  sound  to-day  as  when  the  Spaniards  hung  them 
in  their  places  a  hundred  years  ago. 

There  are  three  entrances  to  the  church — one  broad 
and  high,  facing  the  plaza,  and  the  others  on  the  sides 
of  the  building.  All  have  heavy  oaken  doors,  vying 
now  with  the  stucco  work  around  them  in  fantastic  but 
sadly  soiled  carvings.  Back  of  the  towers  is  a  lightly 
constructed  dome,  surmounted  by  a  dilapidated  weather 
vane.  Time  has  dealt  no  gentle  blows  upon  the  ven- 
erable pile.  It  has  nipped  the  noses  and  plucked  the 
ears  off  of  many  a  statue  in  the  dusty  niches,  turned  the 
stucco  yellow,  eaten  holes  in  the  wooden  work,  and 
chipped  the  pillars  and  cornices.  The  church  is  dirty, 
too.  Long,  dark  stains  extend  down  the  facade  and 
circle  about  the  towers,  and  the  interior  is  as  musty  as  a 
disused  chest. 

And  yet  the  interior  has  its  charm.  Somber  shadows 
linger  there,  uncertain  rays  of  light  stream  through  the 
small  and  deep-set  windows  upon  the  cold  stone  floor. 
Birds  have  built  their  nests  in  the  dome  and  flutter 
from  it  about  the  altar  beneath,  and  the  roof  is  high- 
vaulted  and  shadowy.  The  design  apparently  was 
elaborate,  but  lack  of  funds  interfered  with  its  con- 
ception.    There  is  great  attempt,  but  little  execution. 


104 


With  the  Invader: 


The  decorations  of  the  altar  are  tawdry,  the  floor  bare 
and  uneven,  and  yet  the  church  is  the  idol  of  the 
people,  and  masses  are  religiously  attended. 

The  Chihuahua  plaza  is  unique.  Set  in  the  heart  of 
the  city,  guarded  upon  one  side  by  the  cathedral,  on 
another  by  the  city  hall,  and  elsewhere  by  flat-roofed 
houses,  with  cool  arcades  extending  along  their  fronts, 
it  has  a  fountain  in  its  center,  paths  leading  about  it, 
benches  beneath  the  trees  and  flowers  everywhere. 


CHURCH  OF  SAX  FRANCISCO. 

It  is  a  miniature  park,  neat  and  pretty,  the  lounging- 
place  by  day,  the  center  of  attraction  at  night,  when 
the  band  plays  there  and  lights  flash  through  the  trees 
and  upon  the  waters  of  the  fountain. 

At  night  the  scene  is    fairy-like.      The    walks  are 


A  Mexican  Metropolis.  103 

filled,  the  music  is  enticing,  the  fragrance  of  flowers 
fills  the  air,  laughter  and  gay  repartee  are  heard  on 
every  side,  the  pleasure  of  all  is  genuine  and  un- 
affected. Everything  is  novel,  and  one  scarce  heeds 
the  cathedral  clock  tolling  away  the  passing  hours  of 
the  night. 

It  is  hard  to  leave  Chihuahua.  Acquaintance  in- 
creases the  desire  to  stay  longer.  There  is  so  much 
sunshine,  so  many  quiet  corners,  so  many  flowers,  that 
one  is  fain  to  linger.  There  is  San  Francisco,  with 
its  gilded  altars,  walls,  porticos  and  garden,  where 
stillness  reigns,  and  mellow  lights  throw  into  dim  re- 
lief the  whitened  pillars  and  the  flowering  shrubs;  the 
Barracks,  with  their  pompous  soldiers;  the  creek, 
winding  through  groves  of  trees  and  under  rustic 
bridges;  the  clear,  bright  air,  the  curious  streets,  the 
little  shops.  The  town  has  not  caught  the  spirit  of  the 
new  invasion  yet.  It  still  pursues  its  even  way  of  life, 
sleeping  at  noonday,  wide-awake  at  night,  satisfied, 
quaint  and  novel. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
In  the  Footsteps  of  Coronado. 

THE  picturesqueness  Southern  Arizona  possesses  is 
that  of  New  Mexico  intensified.  Yellow-sanded 
valleys  are  wider  and  longer;  pale  blue  mountains, 
with  serrated  tops,  are  higher;  old  ruins  of  prehistoric 
people  are  more  dilapidated.  With  an  average  eleva- 
tion of  4000  feet  above  sea-level,  the  country  enjoys 
that  clear  and  bracing  atmosphere  so  peculiar  to  ele- 
vated regions,  and  which  heightens  the  color  of  every 
hill  and  crumbling  ruin.  Even  the  most  prosaic  mon- 
uments are  glorified  in  the  warm,  clear  air.  There  is 
great  expansion  and  vastness  and  grandeur.  In  what- 
ever direction  one  looks,  there  are  mountains  of  ever 
varying  size  and  shape  massed  together  beneath  the 
sunlit  sky  of  blue,  and  gathered  about  the  abruptly 
rising  heights  lie  rivers  of  yellow  sand,  dotted  with 
flowering  cacti,  and  forming  a  brilliant  contrast  of  color 
with  the  never-ending  ranges. 

The  history  of  Arizona  has  never  been  written.  It 
is  known  only  to  the  ruins  of  a  forgotten  people  that 
lie  scattered  over  the  Territory;  and  they  are  silent 
and  hold  fast  within  their  walls  the  facts  connected 
with  the  people  who  once  had  cities  where  there  are 
barren  fields  to-day,  and  farms  where  worthless  wastes 


In  the  Footsteps  of  Coronado.  107 

now  exist.  The  prehistoric  dwellers,  judging  from  the 
ruins  left,  were  rich  and  cultivated.  Under  their  rule 
Arizona  was  a  garden.  The  canals  they  built,  the 
farms  they  cultivated,  may  still  be  traced  and  located, 
and  in  their  houses  remain  the  articles  that  they  manu- 
factured. Could  but  the  inanimate  speak,  the  story  of 
Arizona  would  be  more  interesting  than  fiction. 

But  there  is  a  new  as  well  as  an  old  in  Arizona,  and 
the  new  is  not  uninteresting.  The  progress  of  the 
past  few  years  has  been  phenomenal,  and  yet  the  pro- 
cess of  utilization  is  only  in  its  infancy.  Few  consider 
the  Territory  an  agricultural  center ;  and  yet  it  is  one. 
Hitherto  the  mines  of  Arizona  have  gained  prominence 
for  it;  in  the  near  future  productive  valleys  will  add  to 
its  reputation.  The  quantity  of  cereals  grown  in  the 
last  few  years  in  the  Salt  and  Gila  River  valleys  has 
been  very  large.  Near  the  town  of  Phoenix  the  coun- 
try is  literally  covered  with  farms,  and  in  other  sec- 
tions lands  once  dry  and  neglected  are  being  rapidly 
reclaimed. 

The  climate  and  soil  are  both  propitious.  While 
the  higher  parts  of  Arizona  are  cold,  those  in  the  south 
arc  warm  and  protected.  In  the  Gila  and  Salt  val- 
leys there  is  but  little  winter  weather,  and  the  supply 
of  water  is  abundant.  The  regions  have  been  culti- 
vated to  a  certain  extent  for  three  hundred  and  fifty 
years,  but  the  soil  to-day  is  as  rich  as  centuries  ago. 
The  question  whether  cereals  will  grow  is  no  longer  a 
doubtful  one.     Experiments  have  given  an  affirmative 


108  With  the  Invader: 

answer.  By  irrigation  thousands  of  acres  have  already 
been  made  valuable;  and  with  water  thousands  more 
will  be.  In  1883  there  were  135,573  acres  in  farms, 
which  were  valued  at  $1,127,946.  Maricopa  County, 
watered  by  the  Salt  River,  is  principally  devoted  to 
agriculture,  and  contains  400,000  acres  of  arable  land. 
The  soil  is  a  sandy  loam,  high  and  porous,  and  is  par- 
ticularly adapted  to  fruit  trees.  Nearer  the  stream  it 
is  a  rich  adobe. 

There  are  eight  irrigating  canals  already  built  in  the 
county  and  nearly  40,000  acres  are  under  cultivation. 
The  planting  season  begins  in  November  and  lasts 
until  March,  and  four  crops  a  year  are  gathered. 
Wheat  averages  about  twenty-five  bushels  to  the  acre, 
and  barley  twenty-six.  There  are  33,000  fruit  trees 
already  planted  and  216,000  grape  vines,  the  mission, 
muscat  and  black  Hamburgh  being  the  favorites. 
Vines  planted  from  cuttings  begin  to  yield  the  second 
year.  Vegetables  thrive  bounteously  and  attain  great 
size.  Cotton  was  raised  in  Salt  Valley  by  the  Pima 
Indians  long  before  DeSoto  discovered  the  Mississippi, 
and  at  present  the  settlers  are  literally  sitting  beneath 
their  own  vine  and  fig  tree — the  almond,  fig,  plum  and 
pomegranate  being  easily  grown  where  it  was  thought 
that  nothing  would  ever  thrive.  It  was  in  these  valleys, 
now  beginning  to  blossom  and  to  produce,  that  the 
earliest  inhabitants  had  their  farms  and  long  canals. 

A  canal  is  now  being  dug  in  Maricopa  County  from 
Salt  River,  just  below  the  mouth  of  the  Verde,  which 


In  the  Footsteps  of  Corotiado.  lop 

will  cost  $400,000  and  open  80,000  acres  to  cultiva- 
tion. From  the  Gila  four  canals  are  being  constructed 
which  will  make  available  as  many  acres  more.  Land 
at  present  is  valued  at  $5  to  $10  per  acre,  where  un- 
improved but  accessible  to  water,  while  improved  land 
is  held  at  from  $15  to  $30  per  acre.  Near  Phcenix 
$100  is  asked  and  paid  for  valley  land  that  has  been 
improved. 

The  Territory  has  also  60,000  square  miles  of  graz- 
ing lands,  and  there  is  hardly  a  single  section  that  does 
not  have  its  growth  of  grass.  After  the  summer  rains, 
lasting  from  July  to  the  end  of  August,  the  valleys  and 
hill-sides  are  rolling  seas  of  brightest  green,  and  are 
dotted  with  delicately  hued  flowers.  Arizona  contains 
300,000  head  of  cattle,  680,000  sheep,  and  32,000 
horses.  Each  year  sees  the  country  more  generally 
utilized  by  stockmen.  During  the  past  season  thou- 
sands of  cattle  have  been  imported.  Some  of  the 
counties  have  a  supply  of  grasses  sufficient  to  feed 
500,000  head  of  cattle,  and  many  of  the  valleys,  such 
as  those  of  the  Santa  Cruz,  San  Simon  and  San  Pedro, 
can  afford  grazing  to  a  million  head. 

To  a  casual  observer  Arizona  is  dry  and  barren. 
Escaping  from  New  Mexico  by  way  of  Deming,  the 
terminus  of  the  Atchison  Road  in  the  southwest,  one 
enters  the  country  by  the  Southern  Pacific  Railway  and 
is  soon  winding  among  the  isolated  peaks  that  cover 
the  region  in  every  direction.  Here  valleys  broaden 
and  again  contract.     There  are  low,  fiat  plains,  tree- 


no 


With  the  Invader. 


less,  sandy  and  neglected,  and  rock-strewn  canons 
leading  zig-zag  courses  among  the  mountains.  Cactus 
and  palms,  alkali  basins  and  sharp-pointed  mounds 
are  everywhere.  There  is  isolation  and  loneliness, 
grandeur  and  picturesqueness.  Far-away  heights  are 
blue,  nearer  ones  are  brown.  One  sees  but  little  fresh- 
ness, but  little  verdure  ;  to  all  appearances  the  region 
is  arid,  void  of  beauty,  bare  and  bleak. 


PAPAGO  INDIAN. 

And  yet  the  wealth  existing  is  greater  than  can  oe 
imagined.  All  the  ore  taken  up  to  the  present  time 
from  Arizona  mines  is  but  a  fraction  of  that  still  re- 
maining hid.  In  1882  the  yield  of  silver  and  gold  was 
valued  at  $10,000,000.  A  single  mine  at  Tombstone, 
once  valued  at   $10,000,  has   produced   $5,000,000. 


Iii  the  Footsteps  of  Coronado.  in 

Pima  County  is  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  important 
mineral  sections  of  the  Territory.  Men  were  digging 
its  gold  when  the  Southwest  was  centuries  younger 
than  it  is  to-day.  In  the  southwestern  limits  of  the 
county  are  the  Quijotoa  mines,  the  latest  ones  of  value 
discovered,  and  which  are  now  being  successfully 
worked.  Around  them  them  the  first  mining  opera- 
tions ever  attempted  by  Europeans  in  America  began. 

Mining  countries  will  always  have  their  ups  and 
downs  probably,  and  Arizona  is  no  exception  to  the 
rule.  When  properties  were  first  discovered  any  hole 
in  the  ground  tempted  capitalists  to  pour  in  their  gold, 
hoping  to  get  out  more  than  they  put  in.  There  was 
energy  without  discretion.  Men  were  shrewd,  but 
barren  of  conscience.  The  country  enjoyed  a  boom 
for  a  time,  then  grew  listless,  and  to-day  many  towns 
of  mushroom  growth  have  degenerated  into  lifeless 
hamlets,  and  capitalists  have  lost  heavily  in  their  pros- 
pect holes.  Compared  with  its  condition  two  years 
ago,  Arizona  is  utterly  dead.  At  least,  there  is  no 
mining  excitement.  Good  properties  are  still  paying — 
bad  ones  do  not  pay,  and  never  will.  The  business 
has  settled  into  ledgers,  and  there  is  little  speculation. 
Legitimate  has  supplanted  illegitimate.  Mines  are 
sold  only  after  careful  examination.  Capital  seeks 
sure  rather  than  high  profits.  Tombstone  was  inflated 
and  burst,  and  its  downfall  has  taught  new  towns  to  pro- 
ceed slowly. 

But  notwithstanding  the  apparent  dullness,  progress 


112  With  the  Invader: 

is  being  made.  The  present  growth  is  more  stable,  if 
not  so  rapid.  The  base  of  success  has  been  made 
broader.  Reason  is  more  often  consulted  now.  Every 
year  sees  progress  made.  Where  people  once  de- 
pended on  mines  alone,  they  now  look  to  their  farms 
and  herds  as  well.  Industries  are  more  varied. 
Smaller  percentages  are  accepted.  There  is  less  hurry 
and  flurry,  more  honesty  and  patience.  Death  is  not 
present,  but  thoughtfulness  is.  Men  consider  and  pon- 
der more  than  they  did.  Time  is  being  taken  to  consider. 
The  old  truism,  that  "haste  makes  waste,"  is  accepted. 
The  fact  is  realized,  that  great  fortunes  will  not  con- 
tinue to  come  by  chance,  but  that  patient  industry 
may  gain  them.  Those  who  enjoy  "booms"  regret 
that  the  one  Arizona  had  is  over.  But  those  who  fail 
to  see  the  usefulness  of  undue  excitement  are  glad. 
And  those  who  are  happy  form  the  main  portion  of 
the  population.  They  are  the  men  to  whose  untiring 
energy  the  country  will  owe  the  success  it  must  eventu- 
ally have. 

The  history  of  mining  in  Arizona  reads  like  a  ro- 
mance. Many  a  fortune  has  come  by  merest  chance. 
In  one  instance  a  man  drinking  from  a  spring  noticed 
a  rock  beneath  the  water.  He  rose  with  a  rock  in  his 
hand  that  assayed  $10,000  per  ton.  In  four  years  the 
mine  netted  a  million  and  a  half  of  dollars.  In  1875, 
a  party  of  prospectors  lost  one  of  their  mules.  Later 
he  was  found  on  the  top  of  a  hill,  and  in  going  up  the 
elevation  the  finder  stumbled  over  the  croppings  of  a 


In  the  Footsteps  of  Coronado.  TI3 

mine,  since  famous  as  the  "Silver  King,"  which  has 
already  yielded  $4,000,000.  The  mines  around  Ben 
Nevis,  in  the  Quijotoa  District,  were  worked  for  years 
before  McKay  climbed  the  mountain,  located  the  "Peer 
and  Peerless,"  and  made  $500,000  in  eight  months. 
The  ignorant  often  succeeded  where  the  cultivated 
failed.  College  graduates  grew  poor  as  itinerant 
tramps  grew  rich.  Saloon-keepers  became  million- 
aires and  parsons  died  of  starvation.  Chance  fa- 
vored the  undeserving   and   neglected   the  deserving. 

The  largest  timber  tract  in  Arizona  is  in  the  north- 
ern portion  of  the  Territory,  and  extends  southwest 
from  the  San  Francisco  Mountains.  It  contains 
12,000  square  miles,  and  its  yield  is  estimated  to  be 
nearly  one  billion  feet  of  lumber.  The  pine  is  the 
predominant  tree,  and  often  grows  to  a  height  of  200 
feet.  Many  of  its  forests  are  still  untouched,  though 
from  some  of  them  considerable  lumber  is  being  sent 
East  and  to  old  Mexico. 

Any  one  traveling  across  Arizona  on  the  Southern 
Pacific  road  in  summer,  will  incline  to  the  opinion 
that  the  country  is  unbearably  hot  and  dry.  The  road 
has  selected  the  easiest  but  not  the  pleasantest  route, 
and  the  heat  in  very  truth  is  sweltering.  But  in 
reality  Arizona  has  an  enviable  climate.  It  possesses 
three  climatic  zones.  The  first  extends  from  the  Utah 
line  to  the  thirty-fourth  parallel,  and  is  from  4000  to 
6500  feet  above  the  level.  The  average  temperature 
in  summer  is  about  seventy-five  degrees.     The  winters 


iij  With  the  Invader. 


are  free  from  severe  storms.  Snow  is  only  found  upon 
the  mountains.  South  of  the  thirty-fourth  parallel  the 
elevation  is  from  2000  to  4000  feet  less,  and  the  climate 
is  warm,  the  summer  being  practically  continuous. 
In  the  Salt  and  Gila  valleys  winter  never  intrudes, 
and  the  air  of  January  is  mild  and  bracing.  The 
third  zone  is  found  around  Yuma,  on  the  Colorado 
River.  There  it  is  always  hot  in  the  superlative 
degree. 

The  thermometer  often  registers  one  hundred  and 
sixteen  degrees  in  the  shade,  and  never  forgets  itself 
sufficiently  to  go  far  below  seventy.  The  Indians  of 
Yuma  have  long  since  accepted  the  situation,  and 
dress  becomingly  in  a  paper  collar,  without  accessories, 
and  later  residents  long  to  do  the  same. 

There  are  many  cities  in  the  Southwest  that  have 
a  location  commanding  an  extended  view  of  lofty 
mountains,  but  Tucson,  in  Southern  Arizona,  is  par- 
ticularly happy  in  its  surroundings.  In  whatever  di- 
rection he  may  gaze,  one  will  find  blue-hued  heights  to 
look  upon  and  to  admire.  The  town  is  settled  in  a 
mountain-guarded  basin,  wide,  fiat  and  brush-grown, 
and  around  the  enclosure  arc  pointed  cones  and  serra- 
ted ranges  rising  abruptly  from  the  plains. 

Could  Bayard  Taylor  have  seen  the  Catalina  Moun- 
tains from  Tucson,  he  would  have  lavished  upon  them 
fully  as  many  encomiums  as  he  did  upon  the  Rockies, 
as  they  appeared  rising  from  the  prairies  of  Colorado. 
The  Catalinas  have  not  the  massive  ruggedness  of  the 


In  the  Footsteps  of  Corona  do.  113 


Rockies,  nor  have  they  any  of  their  peaks  capped  with 
banks  of  unmelting  snow;  but  they  are  very  beautiful, 
nevertheless,  and  seen  through  the  thin,  blue  haze  often 
lingering  about  them  constantly  appeal  to  one's  affec- 
tion by  the  gracefulness  of  their  contour  and  the  deli- 
cate coloring  of  their  sides/ 

There  is  a  deal  of  veneration  born  in  the  soul  of 
man  by  the  sight  of  mountains.  Grand  old  ranges 
are  to  the  people  of  the  Southwest  what  the  ocean 
is  to  those  living  on  its  shores.  They  speak  in  count- 
less ways  out  of  their  grim  silence,  even  as  do  the  waves 
as  they  pound  upon  the  whitened  sands  of  the  sea- 
shore. Tucsonians  sometimes  complain  of  their  isola- 
tion from  the  cultured  refinement  of  the  East,  but  with 
the  complaint  is  always  mingled  the  gratification  that 
the  mountains  are  theirs.  The  various  peaks,  canons 
and  rounded  heights  all  become  individualized  in  time, 
and  are  ever  ready  to  satisfy  the  longings  for  that  which 
whispers  to  the  mind  and  refreshes  the  soul. 

Nature,  after  all,  is  the  great  pacifier.  Ruined  hopes 
seem  less  hard  to  bear  when  one  can  look,  in  his  sor- 
row, upon  a  placid  lake,  a  fertile  valley  or  a  delicately- 
fashioned  peak.  They  bring  rest  together  with  assur- 
ance. Many  a  man,  beaten  in  the  battle  of  life,  has 
found  comfort  at  last  in  country  vistas,  void  of  turmoil 
and  strife.  In  Arizona,  Nature's  monuments  are  par- 
ticularly impressive,  and  at  Tucson,  generally  regarded 
as  wild,  reckless  and  uncivilized,  one  has  glimpses  of 
nature  making  him  forget,  for  a  time  at  least,  the  dull 


u6  J 17///  the  Invader. 

reality  of  the  present  in  his  contemplation  of  the  future 
as  suggested  by  the  scenery  about  the  town. 

Tucson  is  an  ancient  city.  Antedating  Jamestown 
and  Ply  mouth,  it  was  visited  by  Coronado  in  1540, 
lived  in  by  Europeans  in  1560,  and  had  its  first  mis- 
sionaries in  1581.  But  long  before  1540  there  was  an 
Indian  village  existing  on  the  site  of  the  present  city,  so 
that  Tucsonians  can,  if  they  please,  claim  an  age  for 
their  town  as  great  as  the  Santa  Feans  claim  for  theirs. 

But  for  all  practical  purposes,  1540  is  a  sufficiently 
ancient  date,  and  if  Tucson  only  becomes  as  good  as  it 
is  old,  no  one  will  complain;  and  so  far  it  has  done 
well.  While  not  a  particularly  attractive  city  at  first 
sight,  it  still  stands  in  close  proximity  to  much  that  is 
interesting,  and  is,  besides,  wide-awake  and  progressive. 
There  is  much  adobe  and  great  irregularity,  and  parts 
of  the  city  resemble  sections  of  Santa  Fe  and  other 
semi  Spanish  towns.  The  new  that  there  is  stands 
prominently  forth  by  contrast  with  the  old,  and  seems 
incongruous  at  first,  until  one  realizes  that  Tucson  has 
had  fresh  blood  infused  into  it.  and  that  it  is  the  com- 
mercial center  of  Southern  Arizona. 

One  at  once  notices  the  distinctive  animation  that 
exists.  The  shops  and  streets  might,  properly,  contain 
lazy  Spaniards  and  lumbering  ox-carts;  but  they  do  not. 
The  new-comers  have  suppressed  the  ancient  inhabit- 
ants. The  same  shaded  porticos  and  heavy  adobe 
walls  remain,  but  the  listlessness  of  former  days  has 
departed.    It  is  true,  the  Papago  Indians,  who  formerly 


In  the  Footsteps  of  Coro?iado. 


117 


owned  the  town,  but  who  to-day  reside  outside  its  lim- 
its, wander  about  the  streets,  laden  with  home-made 
goods,  and  there  are  Mexicans  and  Indian  ponies,  and 
many  suggestions  of  the  Spanish  occupancy.  But  the 
place  is  Americanized,  after  all,  an&  the  town,  though 
old,  is  not  asleep.  Its  social  life,  especially,  is  refined 
and  agreeable.  People  of  culture  have  congregated  in 
it,  and  so  utilize  their  opportunities  as  to  enjoy  life  at 
its  full.  They  have  not  theatres,  perhaps,  and  art  gal- 
leries, but  they  have  their  rides  over  the  plains  to  the 
canons,  mountain  peaks  and  fresh  green  valleys,  and 
those  acquainted  with  such  attractions  soon  feel  willing 
to  give  up  the  East. 


SAN  XAV1ER. 


The  most  popular  ride  or  drive  out  of  Tucson  is  up 
the  valley  of  the  Santa  Cruz,  a  shallow  stream  winding 
down  from  Sonora  toward  the  city,  to  the  Mission  San 
Xavier.     The  church  was  finished  more  than  a  century 


u8  With  the  Invader: 

ago  by  the  Spanish  padres,  and  is  the  most  interesting 
monument  in  the  Territory.  Nearing  it,  by  following 
the  river  as  it  winds  through  luxuriant  groves  of  cotton- 
wood  trees  and  low-growing  shrubs,  giving  by  their 
green  presence  the  lie  to  the  too-often-repeated  asser- 
tion that  Arizona  is  a  desert,  one  has  glimpses,  from 
time  to  time,  of  the  white  walls  and  graceful  towers  of 
the  cathedral,  standing  clearly  outlined  in  the  strong 
sunlight  against  the  blue-hued  Catalinas.  There  are 
green  pastures,  thatched-roofed  cottages  of  Papago 
Indians,  cultivated  fields,  bright-colored  flowers.  Off 
in  the  distance,  mountain  peaks  fill  the  horizon;  the 
air  is  cool  in  the  shade;  cattle  feed  in  the  pastures. 
The  region  is  a  bit  of  New  England,  fair,  fresh  and 
fruitful. 

Cabeza  de  Vaca  marched  up  the  Santa  Cruz  valley 
on  his  way  to  Mexico  to  report  the  existence  of  the 
"Seven  Cities  of  Cibola;"  and  it  was  by  following  the 
stream  that  Coronado  came  from  Sonora  into  Arizona 
in  1540.  But  even  before  the  advent  of  the  Spaniards, 
the  Papagos  had  inhabited  the  region,  and  still  remain 
in  it,  tilling  their  grounds,  minding  their  cattle,  and 
making  pottery  and  baskets  for  their  neighbors,  the 
Tucsonians.  Possibly  they  will  be  driven  out,  however, 
now  that  the  valley  is  found  productive,  but  at  present 
they  hold  tenaciously  to  their  own,  and  add  pictur- 
esqueness  to  a  naturally  attractive  place. 

If  a  modern  architect  were  to  build  a  church  in  Ari- 
zona, which  should  harmonize  with  the  surroundings, 


///  ///<■  Footsteps  of  Corona  Jo.  /  rp 

he  could  not  improve  upon  the  plan  and  style  adopted 
by  the  builders  of  San  Xavier.  The  years  that  have 
elapsed  since  the  work  was  completed  have  witnessed 
many  attacks  of  age  upon  the  fagade  and  two  high 
towers  guarding  it,  and  the  church  has  suffered  from 
neglect.  The  wall  once  surrounding  it  has  great  gaps ; 
the  balcony  over  the  main  doorway  is  dilapidated  and 
unsafe;  the  statue  of  St.  Francis  above  it  has  lost  all 
the  resemblance  it  may  once  have  had  to  the  patron 
saint;  and  as  for  the  colored  decorations  of  the  interior, 
they  are  sadly  in  need  of  fresh  paint  and  of  a  general 
freshening  up.  San  Xavier  is  suggestive  of  a  church 
whose  people  had  forsaken  their  temple  and  left  it  to 
its  fate.  There  is  the  air  of  neglect  about  it  that  is  so 
noticeable  in  the  moss-grown  castles  of  Europe;  and 
there  is,  too,  just  as  much  fascination. 

One  begins  at  once  to  weave  curious  fancies  regard- 
ing the  past,  and  falls  to  speculating  about  the  scenes 
of  earlier  days,  when  the  time-stained  church  was  the 
scene  of  gorgeous  pageants.  In  its  day,  San  Xavier 
had  none  of  the  loneliness  that  clings  to  it  at  present. 
The  gaudy  decorations  of  roof,  walls  and  altar,  the  fan- 
ciful bits  of  carving,  the  statues  in  deep-set  niches  were 
bright  and  all  intact  a  century  ago.  Masses  were  said 
by  richly  dressed  fathers;  costly  incense  was  burned; 
the  Spanish  bells  called  successfully  from  the  belfries 
in  the  towers.  The  church  was  a  power,  loved,  if 
feared;  the  centre  of  government,  the  storehouse  of 
rich  ornaments. 


120  With  the  Invader: 

But  if  San  Xavier  has  lost  most  of  its  glory  it  is  not 
entirely  neglected.  The  Indians  still  worship  there, 
and  one  old  native  still  acts  as  custodian  of  the  place 
and  pilots  visitors  into  the  interior.  The  church  stands 
upon  elevated  ground  and  commands  a  view  of  the 
entire  valley.  In  the  distance  Tucson  is  visible, 
crowded  down  among  its  hills,  and  in  another  direc- 
tion are  the  Catalinas.  Following  the  guide  one  passes 
through  long,  dark  corridors,  musty  with  age  and  sug- 
gestive of  hooded  monks,  and  from  them  into  the 
interior,  where  grim  shadows  lurk  continually  in  the 
corners,  behind  the  altar  and  in  the  choir,  over  the 
main  entrance.  In  the  dimness  the  place  loses  all  its 
harsh  crudeness.  If  not  magnificent,  as  cathedrals 
should  be,  it  still  is  picturesque. 

The  church  is  in  the  form  of  a  Greek  cross,  and  the 
decorations  are  lavish  if  not  always  artistic.  There  is 
much  bad  taste  in  the  manner  the  paint  is  applied  to 
every  pillar  and  wall ;  but  in  the  light  of  the  place  the 
effect  is  far  from  disagreeable,  and  one  is  reminded  a 
little,  even  if  only  a  little,  of  St.  Marks,  at  Venice. 
There  are  no  Mosaics  in  San  Xavier,  no  alabaster  pil- 
lars and  rich  treasures;  but  the  colorings  are  brilliant, 
the  carvings  around  the  altar  elaborate,  and  the  quaint 
costumes  of  the  Indian  worshipers — one  will  always 
find  a  few  gathered  before  a  shrine — render  the  entire 
picture  unique,  if  nothing  more.  The  cathedral  brings 
the  past  into  the  present,  and  serves  as  a  connecting  link 
between  that  which  was  and  is.     It  is  an  historical 


Iii  the  Footsteps  of  Coronado.  121 

landmark,  indicative  by  its  presence  of  Spanish  con- 
quest ;  suggestive,  with  its  decay,  of  the  failure  of  the 
invasion. 

If  the  whole  of  Arizona  were  as  beautiful  as  the  Santa 
Cruz  valley,  as  it  appears  from  the  San  Xavier  towers, 
the  Territory  would  be  acknowledged  a  garden  more 
generally  than  it  is  by  those  who  make  a  rapid  flight 
across  it  without  stopping  to  inquire"  if  any  charms 
exist.  Climbing  the  crumbling  stairways  leading  to 
the  bells,  that  still  wake  the  echos  of  the  region  at 
stated  intervals,  the  river  and  the  fields,  Tucson  and 
its  plains,  the  mountains  and  isolated  hills  are  all  ex- 
posed to  view.  The  coloring  is  rich  and  bright,  green 
fields,  blue  peaks,  brown  walls,  yellow  acres  of  waving 
grain.  Verdure  supplants  barrenness.  There  is  vast- 
ness  and  grandeur,  cultivation  and  picturesqueness. 
Looking  upon  the  valley,  choked  with  trees,  protected 
by  high  ranges,  one  wonders,  while  admiring,  when 
other  sheltered  and  watered  vales  of  Arizona  will  be 
reclaimed.  For  this  of  the  Santa  Cruz  is  no  better  than 
others,  and  contains  nothing  that  its  fellows  may  not 
have. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

A  Seaport  of  Old  Mexico. 

THE  State  of  Sonora,  Mexico,  belongs  to  the  South- 
west. Through  it  marched  the  Spaniards  on  their 
way  to  the  north,  and  into  it,  to-day,  reaches  a  branch 
of  the  Atchison  Railway,  the  last  invader  of  a  much- 
invaded  region. 

Mexico  has  made  rapid  progress  in  the  last  half- 
dozen  years.  In  1878  the  only  railway  of  importance 
in  the  Republic  extended  from  Vera  Cruz  to  the  City 
of  Mexico.  Now  there  is  the  Mexican  Central,  tra- 
versing the  country  from  north  to  south;  the  Mexican 
National,  entering  at  Leredo  and  passing  westward  to 
the  capital;  and  the  Sonora  Railway,  extending  from 
Benson,  Arizona,  to  Guaymas,  on  the  Gulf  of  California. 

The  sentiment  of  the  Republic  has  changed.  Diaz, 
elected  President  for  the  second  time,  is  a  statesman 
as  well  as  soldier.  He  inclines  to  progress  more  than 
to  revolution.  By  his  aid,  in  a  great  measure,  the 
present  railways  were  built.  While  much  still  remains 
to  be  done,  a  great  deal  has  been  accomplished;  and 
Diaz  is  the  man  for  the  times.  In  1878  he  encouraged 
American  capital  coming  into  Mexico.  He  is  a  second 
Juarez,  and  in  all  probability  will  enjoy  a  brilliant 
administration. 


A  Seaport  of  Old  Mexico.  123 

In  1873,  illustrative  of  the  progress  made,  the  value 
of  the  imports  and  exports  between  Mexico  and  the 
United  States  was  $10,541,066;  in  18S3  it  was  $24,- 
764,743.  The  revenues  of  Mexico  have  more  than 
doubled  in  the  last  five  years,  being  only  $17,811,125 
in  1878-9,  and  over  $36,000,000  in  1883-4.  From 
1877  to  1882  the  country  produced  $161,286,744 
worth  of  silver,  or  28  per  cent,  of  the  total  production 
of  the  globe. 

South  of  the  district  in  which  is  the  City  of  Mexico, 
the  climate  is  tropical,  and  the  vegetation  rank.  Beyond 
the  burning  sands,  on  which  stands  the  city  of  Vera 
Cruz,  facing  the  Gulf,  is  a  long  succession  of  tropical 
gardens,  producing  every  known  fruit  in  richest  abun- 
dance; and  even  on  the  table  lands,  with  an  average 
elevation  of  7000  feet,  there  are  extended  areas,  capa- 
ble of  almost  unlimited  production. 

Until  recently,  Sonora  was  but  little  known.  Con- 
taining barely  a  tenth  of  the  entire  population  of  the 
country,  its  cities  are  few  and  small,  and  its  achieve- 
ments unimportant.  Along  its  western  borders  lie  the 
waters  of  the  Gulf  of  California,  pressed  down  upon  by 
low-browed  hills,  and  its  eastern  limits  contain  the 
Sierra  Madre  mountains,  that  come  into  the  south  from 
Arizona. 

Between  the  blue-hued  range  and  the  Gulf  are  long, 
wide  stretches  of  sand,  brush  and  cactus  grown  here, 
and  barren  there;  watered  valleys,  cultivated  and  pro- 
ductive; protected  basins,  containing  picturesque  towns, 


124  With  the  Invader: 

fields  of  grain,  vineyards  and  orchards.  Riding  by 
rail  down  the  center  of  the  State,  one  is  led  by  the  gen- 
eral appearance  of  the  country  to  regard  it  as  a  deserted 
region,  vast  but  valueless,  hot  and  unproductive.  Once 
escaping  from  the  valleys  leading  over  the  hills  that 
separate  Sonora  from  Arizona,  the  railway  traverses  a 
veritable  desert.  Flat,  sandy  wastes  extend  about  one 
in  every  direction,  towns  are  scattered  and  poorly 
built,  and  only  the  distant  mountains,  grouped  together 
in  the  east,  relieve  the  dull  monotony  of  the  view. 

But  in  reality  Sonora  contains  much  that  is  attract- 
ive, and  has  great  natural  wealth.  The  length  of  the 
State  is  about  700  miles;  its  breadth  varies  from  120 
to  300  miles;  and  its  area  is  123,466  square  miles. 
Along  the  coast  the  surface  is  diversified  by  valleys, 
plains  and  mountains,  but  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
Sierra  Madres  is  lofty  and  broken.  Dry  plains  are 
located  in  the  northwest,  while  table-lands  lie  in  the 
northeast,  and  extend  from  the  valley  of  the  Santa  Cruz 
to  the  base  of  the  Sierra  Madres.  The  vast  plains  and 
wide  valleys  of  the  interior  have  a  soil  of  great  depth 
and  richness. 

The  best  lands,  and  those  most  generally  cultivated, 
lie  in  the  northern  and  eastern  sections  of  the  State, 
and  along  the  Yaqui  and  Mayo  rivers.  Near  the  Sier- 
ras the  country  is  especially  fertile,  and  contains  ex- 
tended ranches  and  farms.  The  mineral  belt  is  also 
located  there,  and  many  of  the  mines,  adding  materi- 
ally to  the  wealth  of  Sonora,  are  being  worked,  after 


A  Seaport  of  Old  Mexico.  125 

long  centuries  of  idleness,  by  English   and  American 
capitalists. 

The  mines  of  Sonora  have  been  known  from  time 
immemorial.  Many  of  the  older  ones  have  a  history 
clouded  with  traditions,  and  some  have  no  data  to  de- 
termine the  first  period  of  their  existence.  But  in  all 
their  years  they  have  never  yet  been  systematically  and 
thoroughly  developed.  Of  the  dozen  or  more  dis- 
tricts scattered  over  the  State,  many  contain  richly 
producing  mines,  and  were  worked  in  a  desultory 
manner  by  the  Spaniards.  The  Alamos  District,  240 
miles  southeast  from  Guaymas,  is  particularly  rich  in 
silver  leads,  while  that  of  San  Ildefonso,  100  miles 
westward  from  Hermosillo,  contain  a  number  of  gold 
veins. 

Besides  gold  and  silver,  Sonora  also  contains  large 
quantities  of  coal,  antimony,  lead  and  zinc.  Several 
of  the  mineral  districts  are  located  in  fertile  tracts  of 
country,  and  in  close  proximity  to  prosperous  towns 
and  reduction  furnaces.  There  is  also  a  large  supply 
of  timber  in  the  Sierras,  and  the  bottom  lands,  in  pro- 
tected basins  and  in  the  larger  valleys,  produce  with 
rich  abundance  every  known  cereal  and  fruit.  Fruits 
of  the  tropical  zone  and  those  of  the  temperate  zone 
thrive  equally  well.  Irrigation  is  necessary  in  nearly 
every  instance,  but  whenever  water  is  supplied  the  soil 
produces  most  lavishly. 

Leaving  Benson,  Arizona,  the  Sonora  Railway  fol- 
lows a  winding  creek,  flowing  from  a  range  of  hills 


126  With  tlic  Invader: 


that  separate  Mexico  from  our  territory,  and  from  it 
climbs  through  tortuous  canons,  fresh  valleys  and  over 
the  divide  into  Sonora.  The  scenery  is  surpassingly 
beautiful,  having  a  rugged  grandeur  at  first,  while  the 
Arizona  heights  remain  in  view,  and  picturesqueness 
later  on,  when  the  way  leads  through  groves  of  live  oaks 
that  cover  the  sides  of  gently-rounded  hills,  green  with 
short,  sweet  grasses. 

The  fertility  is  universal.  High-pointed  mountains, 
extending  in  uncertain  courses  here  and  there  over  the 
region,  form  a  blue  back-ground  to  green  fields  and 
yellow-colored  rocks,  while  every  canon  has  its  limpid 
stream,  fringed  with  stately  trees  and  low-growing 
shrubs.  Many  of  the  valleys,  leading  from  and  into 
rolling  pastures,  are  covered  with  farms,  as  fresh,  fair 
and  verdant  as  those  among  the  Eastern  hills,  and  one 
loses,  for  a  time  at  least,  that  sense  of  vastness  so  char- 
acteristic of  the  great  Southwest. 

The  little  town  of  Nogales,  situated  directly  on  the 
dividing  line  between  southern  Arizona  and  northern 
Mexico,  is  the  port  of  entry  to  Sonora,  and  a  typical 
Mexican  village.  It  nestles  in  a  narrow  valley,  formed 
by  two  ranges  of  low  hills,  and  watered  by  a  stream  of 
clear,  fresh  water,  and  is  hardly  more  than  a  collec- 
tion of  adobe  huts,  crowded  together  in  disorderly 
confusion.  From  a  little  distance  the  village  is  a  quaint 
oddity  that  constantly  invites  a  nearer  inspection. 
And  yet  one  would  do  well  to  see  it  only  from  afar, 
for  the  closer  the  investigation  the  more  prosaic  and 


A  Seaport  of  Old  Mexico.  r2j 

dirty  the  place  appears.  A  small  town  in  Mexico  is 
far  from  being  entirely  attractive.  Not  only  are  the 
houses  rudely  made,  and  crowded  uncomfortably  to- 
gether, but  there  is  present  an  odor  that  is  far  from 
pleasant  to  the  nostrils.  And  as  for  general  cleanli- 
ness, one  must  go  elsewhere  before  he  finds  it. 

But  Nogales  is  not  entirely  depraved,  and  as  you 
leave  it,  the  little  cottages,  with  wreaths  of  smoke  curl- 
ing upward  from  the  chimney  tops,  have  a  certain 
picturesqueness  which  predisposes  one  to  form  an 
immediate  attachment  for  the  Republic  at  large.  It  is 
the  curious  and  the  strange  in  life,  after  all,  that  one 
wants  to  discover;  and  Mexican  towns  and  cities  have 
a  flavor  of  oddity  about  them  which  renders  them  as 
attractive,  to  a  certain  extent,  as  the  villages  lying  be- 
neath an  Italian  sky,  or  within  short  distance  of  the 
crumbling  walls  of  the  Alhambra. 

Below  Nogales  a  few  miles,  the  way  leads  out  of 
the  canons  into  the  great  central  valley  of  Sonora, 
that  region  of  solidly  baked  sands,  coarse  growth  of 
shrubs  and  cacti,  dry,  hot  air,  and  general  dreariness, 
which  is  confined  between  the  Sierra  Madres,  on  the 
one  side,  and  the  Coast  Range  on  the  other.  Far 
away  in  the  east  and  west  the  mountains  may  be  seen 
lifting  their  pale  blue  fronts  out  of  the  levels  lying  at 
their  base,  but  immediately  at  hand  is  the  flat,  uninter- 
esting country  down  which  the  railroad  runs. 

In  this  veritable  desert  even  the  hardy  trees  have 
a  dry  and  withered  look,  and  the  yellowish  sands  lie 


128  With  the  Invader. 


simmering  in  the  hot  sunlight.  There  are  few  sugges- 
tions of  civilization  and  settlement,  and  even  the  towns 
that  are  passed  have  an  air  of  neglect  and  loneliness 
about  them  which  is  not  only  repellant,  but  which 
causes  one  at  all  times  to  pity  the  unfortunates 
obliged  to  live  in  such  dull,  hot  places.  The  huts  are 
made  of  reeds  plastered  on  the  roof  with  grass  and 
mud;  and  as  for  the  natives,  they  are  robed  as  nearly 
as  possible  after  the  fashion  of  Mother  Eve.  The  chil- 
dren follow  the  dictates  of  nature,  and  lie  curled  up  in 
shady  places,  with  no  other  covering  than  that  given 
by  the  flies  settling  on  their  bodies.  The  heat  is  con- 
tinuous and  oppressive,  enervating  to  the  strong  as 
well  as  to  the  weak — omnipresent  and  parching.  One 
longs  to  copy  the  natives,  and  discard  superfluous 
clothing,  and  he  feels  that  Sonora,  if  its  main  valley  is 
a  sample,  is  altogether  unfitted  for  a  stranger's  place  of 
residence. 

Nearing  Hermosillo,  which  lies  about  midway  be- 
tween Guaymas  and  Nogales,  one  enters  at  a  bound  a 
section  of  Sonora  which  is  as  richly  cultivated,  fresh,  fair, 
and  pretty  as  the  major  portion  of  the  valley  is  the  re- 
verse. Near  the  city,  which  is  the  largest  in  the  State, 
the  mountains  are  only  separated  by  a  narrow  tract  of 
land  that  is  watered  by  the  Sonora  River  and  irrigating 
ditches  extending  in  every  direction.  It  is  a  fruitful 
vale,  crowded  with  groves  of  lemon,  fig,  orange,  and 
banana,  and  containing  fields  of  waving  grass  and  grain. 
To  residents  of  the  main  valley,  the  Hermosillo  dis- 


A  Seaport  of  Old  Mexico.  129 

trict  must  appear  a  second  Eden.  Every  inch  of  ground 
is  cultivated;  the  hot  rays  of  the  sun  arc  baffled  in  their 
effect  by  vigorous  shade  trees;  and  along  the  banks  of 
the  creeks  grow  masses  of  sugar-cane.  The  soil  is  rich 
and  productive,  and  aided  by  a  genial  climate  (hot,  to 
be  sure,  but  not  of  burning  heat),  and  carefully  watered, 
grows  whatever  may  be  planted,  whether  it  be  a  flower- 
ing shrub,  or  a  grove  of  orange  trees,  with  yellow 
fruit  gleaming  among  the  leaves. 

Many  have  argued  from  this  fertility  of  the  Hermo- 
sillo  country  that  the  whole  State  of  Sonora  might  be 
cultivated  as  well  if  properly  irrigated,  and  there  seems 
no  valid  reason  why  it  should  not  be.  The  soil  is  the 
same,  the  climate  is  not  materially  different,  and  it 
seems  that  only  the  energy  is  wanting. 

Hermosillo,  as  a  city,  ranks,  by  reason  of  its  size, 
importance,  and  general  appearance,  with  Chihuahua 
and  Durango  in  the  northeast  of  Mexico.  It  has  a 
population  of  some  10,000  people,  and  its  public  and 
private  buildings  are  large  and  handsomely  constructed. 
At  the  end  of  the  city  is  the  plaza,  without  which  no 
Mexican  city  would  be  complete,  and  leading  to  it  are 
various  long  and  narrow  streets,  lined  with  two-storied 
adobe  houses,  and  paved  with  rounded  cobble-stones. 
Within  the  plaza,  laid  out  in  shaded  walks  that  are 
fringed  with  myriads  of  vari-colored  flowers,  is  a  large 
stand,  in  which  the  military  band  plays,  and  rustic  seats 
placed  beneath  orange  and  lemon  trees.  Seated  here 
in  protected  corners,  one  looks  over  the  city  house-tops 


i jo  With  the  Invader: 

to  the  mountains  crowding  down  and  overlooking  the 
town,  or  up  one  of  the  public  ways  to  a  white-faced 
cathedral  with  melodious  bells,  which  guards  the  city 
on  the  north. 

The  picture  presented  is  one  of  varying  attractions, 
warm-colored  and  listless,  illumined  by  stucco  deco- 
rated walls,  and  dark,  swarthy  faces  peering  above 
snowy  clothes.  There  is  but  little  animation  among 
those  whom  one  notices  moving  lazily  about  the  little 
square,  or  taking  refreshing  siestas  on  the  benches.  It 
is  too  hot  to  venture  into  the  sunshine,  even  if  the 
energy  to  do  so  were  present;  and  a  Mexican  loves, 
above  all  other  things,  to  lead  a  life  of  ease  and  of 
repose.  And  in  Hermosillo,  indeed,  there  is  some  ex- 
cuse for  his  prevailing  laziness.  Where  the  sun  strikes 
the  pavements,  the  heat  rises  in  glaring,  quivering 
layers,  and  the  shadows  are  dark  and  clearly  outlined. 
The  city  is  hot,  and  at  noonday  is  a  deserted  village, 
with  shop  windows  tightly  barred,  doors  all  closed, 
and  people  fast  asleep. 

Beyond  Hermosillo,  as  one  continues  his  way  toward 
Guaymas,  the  same  dreary  levels  are  again  encountered, 
and  the  heat  becomes  every  moment  drier  and  more 
oppressive.  The  wastes  of  sand,  with  scrawny  cacti 
growing  here  and  there,  lend  a  general  dreariness  to 
the  scene.  The  country  looks  shriveled  up,  and  one 
has  to  be  argued  with  many  times  before  being  con- 
vinced that  if  the  land  were  irrigated  it  would  he  val- 
uable. 


A  Seaport  of  Old  Mexico. 


There  is  too  much  actuality  to  suggest  man)'  glorious 
possibilities.  At  times  the  road  leads  past  lowly  huts, 
with  half-naked  Indians  grouped  about  the  open  door- 
way; and  again  past  a  straggling  village,  with  its  half- 
dozen  houses  protected  from  the  sunlight  by  an  awning 
of  reeds  or  bushes.  Continuing  southward,  and  every- 
where encountering  the  same  dry,  hot  scenes,  the  way 
at  last  runs  beside  an  inlet  of  the  sea,  that  has  forced 
its  way  far  in  among  the  sun-baked  sands;  then  over  a 
long  bridge,  leading  to  a  hilly  isle,  and  from  there 
around  the  shores  of  other  inlets  and  secluded  bays  to 
where  there  is  a  station.  From  it  the  town  of  Guaymas 
appears  in  sight,  nestled  by  the  side  of  its  deep  and 
land-locked  harbor. 

It  is  so  generally  supposed  that  Guaymas  faces  the 
Gulf  of  California,  that  when  one  arrives  in  the  town 
and  finds  that  it  looks  toward  the  east  rather  than 
toward  the  west,  and  that  the  waters  of  the  Gulf  are 
nowhere  to  be  seen,  he  becomes  hopelessly  confused, 
at  first,  regarding  the  points  of  the  compass,  and  is 
inclined  to  believe  that  Nature  is  playing  a  joke  upon 
him.  But  when  he  climbs  any  one  of  the  high  hills 
that  rise  sharply  from  the  western  limits  of  the  town, 
the  seeming  incongruity  is  explained  and  the  east  is 
seen  to  be  in  its  proper  relative  position. 

For  Guaymas  is  built  upon  a  long  and  narrow  stretch 
of  land  that  shoots  far  southward  into  the  waters  of  the 
Gulf,  then  turns  sharply  eastward  and  again  toward  the 
north,  until  an  inland  bay  is  formed,  leading  into  a 


jj2  With  the  Invader: 

channel  which  extends  to  the  Gulf,  and  on  the  shore 
of  which  is  Guaymas. 

The  harbor  is  filled  with  unruffled  waters,  and  the 
surrounding  ranges  of  bare  hills  protect  it  on  every 
side.  Sailing  toward  the  city,  one  moves  eastward  at 
first,  then  toward  the  north  until  the  channel  leading 
to  the  bay  is  reached,  when  the  course  is  changed  to 
south,  and  the  way  lies  through  a  narrow  opening.  It 
is  a  picturesque  entrance,  safe  and  deep,  and  the  har- 
bor is  the  best  in  Western  Mexico.  The  largest  ships 
can  enter  it  and  anchor  within  a  hundred  yards  of 
shore.  The  fact  that  Guaymas  is  nearer  Australia  and 
the  South  American  ports  than  either  San  Pedro  or 
San  Francisco,  has  led  to  the  hope  that  the  city  would 
become  the  shipping  and  receiving  port  of  the  western 
coast.  It  was  with  this  idea  that  the  Sonora  Railroad 
was  built. 

So  far,  however,  the  business  has  not  been  large,  and 
Guaymas,  while  still  of  considerable  importance,  is 
hardly  a  metropolis,  and  remains  to-day,  as  for  years 
past,  a  village  of  but  limited  activity,  though  naturally 
well  calculated  to  enjoy  a  large  trade  and  great  pros- 
perity.- Connected,  as  it  is,  by  a  continuous  line  of 
railway  with  the  East,  it  seems  to  deserve  an  importance 
greater  than  it  now  has. 

Seen  from  the  hills  beyond  it,  Guaymas  looks  its 
best.  From  that  elevated  stand-point,  the  little  sea- 
port exposes  to  view  its  flat-roofed,  adobe  houses,  its 
unfinished  cathedral,  whose  dome  towers  white  and 


A  Seaport  of  Old  Mexico.  133 

rounded  above  the  other  buildings,  its  plaza,  busy 
streets,  and  the  calm,  still  bay,  reflecting  in  its  clear 
depths  the  Indian  barges,  anchored  near  the  wharf, 
and  the  larger  ships  from  foreign  ports  lying  further 
out.  There  is  the  channel,  with  white-winged  boats 
gliding  to  and  from  the  harbor,  and  far  away,  beyond 
the  hot  and  dusty  plains,  rise  the  majestic  heights  of 
the  Sierra  Madre,  softly  outlined  againt  the  sky. 


A  GUAYMAS  BOY. 

Guaymas  is  not  an  old  town,  nor  has  it  a  super- 
abundance of  attractions.  A  much  older  village,  from 
which  the  present  one  takes  its  name,  stands  in  ruins 
not  far  away,  and  boasts  of  Spanish  origin.  But  it  has 
been  eclipsed  by  the  new  comer,  and  the  present 
Guaymas  will  undoubtedly  soon  claim  the  birthday 
of  the  older  town,  and  be  spoken  of  as  an  ancient 


7j4?  With  the  Invader: 

city.  And  its  looks  will  not  belie  the  boast.  To-day 
it  might  add  another  century  to  the  one  it  has  already 
lived,  and  none  would  doubt  the  claim.  Not  only  are 
the  houses  antiquated  and  scarred,  but  the  wharf  is 
dilapidated  and  abandoned  to  the  Indians,  who  pitch 
their  tents  upon  it.  Many  of  the  inhabitants  appear  to 
have  existed  for  untold  centuries,  so  old  and  wrinkled 
are  they,  and  the  streets  of  the  village  have  that  listless 
air  about  them  so  peculiar  to  cities  of  antiquity. 

As  in  Italy  all  roads  lead  to  Rome,  so  in  Guaymas 
all  streets  lead  to  the  plaza.  It  is  the  radiating  center 
of  the  village,  and  the  congregating  spot  of  all  the 
people.  During  the  day,  the  little  square,  with  its 
trim  rows  of  orange  trees,  well-made  walks  and  flower- 
ing shrubs,  is  deserted,  save  for  the  few  passing  through 
it  on  their  various  errands;  but  during  the  evening, 
when  the  labors  of  the  day  are  ended,  it  is  filled  with 
idlers,  who  promenade  its  walks,  or  lounge  upon  the 
benches,  enjoying  the  cool  air  and  the  lively  music  of 
the  military  band.  During  our  stay  the  moon  was  at 
its  full,  and  hung  above  the  city  like  a  ball  of  fire, 
lighting  the  hill-tops,  and  touching  with  silvery  hand 
the  dome  of  the  cathedral  and  the  low,  flat  roofs  of  the 
houses.  Out  in  the  bay  it  fell  upon  the  water  with 
long,  bright  glimmer,  and  on  the  distant  ranges  threw 
dark  shadows  down  the  mountain  sides.  The  air  was 
calm  and  soft,  and  perfumed  with  the  fragrance  of 
myriads  of  flowers,  while  at  intervals  rose  the  sweet 
notes  of  the  players  flooding  the  town  with  music,  and 


A  Seaport  of  Old  Mexico.  135 

lending  a  picturesque  and  fascinating  brilliancy  to  the 
scene. 

If  night  could  always  linger  at  Guaymas,  the  city 
would  never  grow  dull  or  commonplace,  for  when  the 
sun  once  sets,  the  otherwise  prosaic  town  is  imbued 
with  joyous  life.  All  troubles  are  forgotten  then,  and 
the  rich  and  the  poor  flock  into  the  plaza  to  enjoy  the 
cool  night  air,  the  music,  the  cigarette,  the  sedate  flir- 
tation with  the  pretty  seilorita. 

Down  by  the  side  of  what  is  politely  called  the  wharf 
of  Guaymas  stands  a  broad-balconied  custom  house,  in 
the  shadow  of  which  one  may  be  always  certain  of  find- 
ing a  group  of  Yaqui  Indians,  curled  up  in  cool  cor- 
ners, or  stretched  at  full  length  on  their  bits  of  matting, 
enjoying  a  quiet  siesta. 

The  Yaquis  are  the  laborers  of  Sonora,  and  consti- 
tute a  large  proportion  of  the  population.  Their  vil- 
lage is  situated  only  a  few  miles  from  town,  on  the 
Yaqui  River,  and  contains  some  four  thousand  people. 
The  ruler  of  the  tribe,  Cajeme  by  name,  is  a  despot  of 
the  deepest  sort.  His  power  is  absolute,  he  has  his 
own  custom  house,  and  levies  toll  upon  any  export  or 
import  he  pleases  to  tax,  and  his  farms  are  the  most 
prosperous  in  the  State.  It  is  the  Yaqui  gardens 
which  supply  the  tables  of  Guaymas,  and  the  Indians 
are  the  bearers  of  heavy  burdens,  the  builders  of  rail- 
ways, the  boatmen,  and  porters  of  the  land.  They  come 
into  town  early  ever}'  morning,  rowing  or  sailing  heavy 
laden  boats  up  to  the  old  wharf,  and  from  there  carry- 


jj6  With  the   Invader: 

ing  their  goods  about  the  streets.  At  evening,  those 
who  have  sold  their  possessions  enter  their  boats  again 
and  sail  for  home,  while  the  less  fortunate  camp  upon 
the  wharf  and  pass  away  the  hours  of  night  singing 
plaintive  melodies  and  indulging  in  childish  sports. 
Living  in  so  warm  a  climate,  they  dress  in  cotton  gar- 
ments and  wear  broad-brimmed  sombreros  and  leather 
sandals.  They  are  strong,  and  often  handsome,  skillful 
makers  of  baskets,  mats,  and  cages,  and  rarely  mingle 
with  the  other  classes. 

The  cathedral  of  Guaymas,  which  faces  the  plaza,  is 
one  only  in  name,  and  is  still  far  from  being  finished. 
It  is  an  ordinary  building  of  brick,  and  presents  none 
of  the  interesting  features  usually  accompanying  Mexi- 
can churches.  At  the  present  rate  of  progress  it  will 
be  years  before  it  is  completed. 

When  one  has  exhausted  the  pleasures  of  the  plaza 
and  the  hills,  with  their  view  of  the  city  nestling  be- 
neath them,  there  is  left  in  Guaymas  little  to  do  but 
to  roam  aimlessly  about  the  narrow  streets,  with  their 
quaint  phases  of  life,  or  to  sit  upon  the  benches  down 
near  the  custom  house,  and  watch  the  boats  gliding 
over  the  waters  of  the  harbor.  From  the  latter  place 
there  is  always  something  of  interest  taking  place. 
Now  one  sees  the  barges  lightering  the  freight  ashore 
from  the  ship  that  is  anchored  out  in  mid-channel; 
now  the  Yaqui  boats  appear,  laden  to  the  water's  edge 
with  garden  produce.  Away  toward  the  east  is  the 
channel  leading  out  to  sea,  hemmed  in  by  blue  hills, 


A  Seaport  of  Old  Mexico.  137 

and  lighted  now  and  then  by  a  white-winged  vessel ; 
while  on  a  sharply  rising  bit  of  ground  near  by  stand 
the  ruins  of  a  long-neglected  fort,  which  Maximilian 
erected  during  his  short,  sad  reign.  The  bay,  at  times, 
is  full  of  boats,  while  here  and  there  a  steamer  from 
foreign  ports  is  anchored  in  the  midst  of  smaller  crafts. 

The  streets  of  Guaymas  are  odd  little  alley-ways, 
paved  with  large,  flat  stones,  and  lined  on  either  side 
by  rows  of  adobe  shops  and  residences.  Into  some  of 
the  wider  ones  the  American  horse-car,  drawn  by  a 
mule,  has  found  its  way,  but  usually  there  are  only  the 
native  carts,  big  and  ungainly,  and  the  oddly  dressed 
people,  crying  their  wares  early  in  the  day,  later  curled 
up  in  shaded  doorways,  and  in  the  evening  making 
haste  to  reach  the  plaza.  Here,  at  one  moment, 
comes  the  Guaymas  water-cart,  pulled  by  a  patient 
mule,  with  the  driver  perched  in  uncomfortable 
position  behind  him;  and  there  the  still  more  primi- 
tive carrier,  the  burro,  loaded  with  pig-skins  filled  with 
water,   and  led   by  a  black-haired,   bright-faced   boy. 

One  learns  in  time  to  take  an  interest  in  the  different 
people  met  with  on  the  way,  and  the  streets,  for  all 
they  are  so  plain  and  common,  grow  in  popularity  as 
the  days  go  past.  Guaymas,  at  last,  with  all  its  heat 
and  glaring  defects,  steals  a  place  in  one's  affections, 
and  with  regret  is  left  to  bask  in  its  sunlight  as  the 
stranger  moves  toward  the  north  again  to  another  sea- 
port of  the  western  coast  which  the  Franciscan  padres 
beautified. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
With  the  Franciscan  Fathers. 

IT  is  but  natural  to  go  to  California  after  visiting 
Sonora.  The  history  of  the  Southwest  leads  one 
out  of  Mexico,  through  Sonora,  and  on  to  Southern 
California.  In  former  years  the  early  Spanish  padres 
moved  westward  from  Tucson  and  established  missions 
among  the  warm  and  sheltered  valleys  of  California. 
Many  of  the  churches  that  they  built  are  melancholy 
ruins  to-day,  and  the  founders  have  long  been  dead 
and  forgotten. 

But  the  achievements  of  the  romantic  past  are  not 
forgotten,  and  in  passing  toward  the  Pacific,  one  never 
loses  the  Franciscan  flavor  so  prominently  present  in 
the  Southwest.  Americans  have  robbed  Arizona  and 
parts  of  Sonora  of  many  distinctive  characteristics  sug- 
gestive of  Spain,  but  have  not  destroyed  all  the  adobe 
churches,  which  Father  Junipero  and  his  confreres  built, 
nor  robbed  the  natural  scenery  of  its  glorious  beauty. 

Nearing  the  Rio  Colorado,  crossed  by  the  railway 
at  Yuma,  Arizona  is  not  picturesque.  Sandy  wastes 
surround  one.  Mountains  stand  in  isolated  groups. 
Cactus  plants,  bunches  of  coarse  grass,  pointed  peaks 
are  everywhere,  and  in  summer  the  heat  rises  in  quiv- 
ering layers  from  the  parched  and  neglected  ground. 


With  the  Franciscan   Fathers.  zjp 

And  yet  once  there  were  wide  canals,  some  fifty 
miles  in  length,  that  may  still  be  traced,  and  near  Casa 
Grande  Station  are  the  crumbling  ruins  of  an  ancient 
home  whose  history  is  unknown,  but  whose  heavy  walls 
to-day  are  still  intact.  When  Casa  Grande  was  dis- 
covered by  the  Spaniards  in  1540,  the  largest  build- 
ing of  the  group  was  four  stories  high  and  had  walls 
six  feet  in  thickness.  As  late  as  a  century  ago  one  of 
the  remaining  houses  measured  420  by  260  feet.  That 
there  was  once  a  busy  city  near  the  pre-historic  houses 
seems  evident ;  and  that  the  people  were  rich  and  cul- 
tivated is  evinced  by  the  treasures  that  have  been  dis- 
covered beneath  the  floors. 

A  short  distance  beyond  Casa  Grande  is  the  station 
from  which  one  takes  stage  to  Phoenix,  in  the  Gila 
Valley.  Riding  across  the  level  wastes,  only  waiting 
for  water  to  be  as  productive  as  of  old,  the  little  town 
is  reached.  Around  it  are  gathered  the  farms,  so  rap- 
idly spreading  over  all  the  valley,  and  in  the  streets 
are  double  rows  of  cottonwood  trees,  shading  the 
houses  and  lending  an  air  of  comfort  and  contentment 
to  the  village. 

It  is  by  seeing  such  places  that  one's  preconceived 
ideas  of  Arizona  are  dissipated.  Here  there  is  verdure 
and  general  freshness.  Meadows  reach  from  the  river 
far  into  the  plains;  vineyards  have  been  started.  There 
are  old-fashioned  barns  and  feeding  cattle  and  the 
usual  accessories  of  New  England  agricultural  centres. 
The  ambition  to  own  a  farm  near  Phoenix  to-day  is  as 


140  With  the  Invader: 

great  as  formerly  it  was  to  own  a  mine  at  Tombstone; 
and  the  people  now  gathering  in  the  village  are  the 
ones  who  will  reclaim  the  deserts  and  transform  the 
country. 

It  is  dreary  work,  traveling  across  the  desert  that  lies 
east  of  the  Californian  mountains,  and  between  those 
heights  and  the  Colorado.  There,  at  least,  man  has 
attempted  nothing.  Glaring  sands  are  everywhere, 
wind-swept  and  parched.  Even  the  railway  track  is 
buried,  at  times,  with  heaps  of  sand,  and  the  region  is 
like  an  inland  sea,  vast  but  motionless. 

The  Spanish  invaders  entered  California  from  the 
sea;  but  modern  ones  come  into  the  country  over  the 
range  that  runs  down  the  entire  length  of  the  State  like 
a  huge  backbone.  And  once  over  it,  the  land  of  ver- 
dure, sunny  skies,  green  grasses  and  fragrant  flowers 
is  reached,  and  the  Pacific  caught  sight  of. 

Southern  California  is  a  second  Eden,  fresh,  fair  and 
satisfying.  Leaving  the  Sierras,  now  looming  above 
the  road,  robed  from  base  to  peak  with  verdure,  one 
journeys  northward  through  Nature's  gardens.  There 
are  long,  wide  valleys,  carpeted  with  green  and  brilliant 
with  vari-colored  flowers;  orange  groves,  with  golden 
fruit  shining  through  the  leaves;  vineyards,  dotting  the 
hillsides;  and  olive,  pear,  apple  and  banana  groves. 

Formerly  little  was  expected  of  Southern  Califor- 
nia. It  was  too  dry,  and  sandy,  ever  to  become  valu- 
able. When  the  Franciscan  fathers  settled  in  San  Ga- 
briel Valley,  it  was  thought  they  had  selected  the  only 


With  the  Franciscan  Fathers.  141 

available  region,  and  the  church  the  padres  built  there 
was  the  only  center  of  cultivation,  But  the  achieve- 
ments of  the  past  few  years  have  settled  the  dispute, 
and  the  southern  portion  of  the  State  has  proved  itself 
productive  without  limit.  Already  San  Gabriel  Valley 
is.  occupied  from  one  end  to  the  other,  and  every  year 
is  being  more  utilized.  Water  is  abundant,  and  the 
climate  perfect. 

Los  Angeles  is  the  metropolis  of  Southern  California. 
Founded  by  the  Spaniards,  and  in  early  days  a  village 
of  vine-clad,  adobe  houses,  it  to-day  is  a  busy,  bustling 
city,  modern  and  prosaic.  True,  the  "  Spanish  quar- 
ter" still  remains  and  retains  its  old-time  flavor  of 
quaintness;  but  it  is  overpowered  by  the  new  city.  To 
be  enthusiastic  now  over  Los  Angeles,  one  must  remem- 
ber its  past;  for  the  present  is  not  picturesque,  and  the 
people  are  restless  workers,  rather  than  idle  dreamers, 
though  they  still  have  orange  groves  in  their  yards  and 
date  palms  and  banana  trees  guarding  their  house  steps. 

But  if  the  city  is  less  attractive  than  one  had  hoped, 
the  surroundings  are  not.  San  Gabriel  is  as  beautiful 
now  as  when  the  Fathers  held  undisputed  possession 
of  it.  Around  the  old  San  Gabriel  Mission,  with 
heavy  walls,  toned  by  time  to  harmonize  with  the  col- 
ors of  the  valley,  are  vineyards,  orange  groves  and 
yellow  wheat  fields,  and  stately  homes  stand  beside 
white-walled  cottages.  On  one  side  of  the  valley  runs 
the  Sierra  Madre  range,  from  whose  foothills  is  a 
view  of  the  Pacific,  stretching  far  away  into  the  west. 


1 42  With  the  Invader: 

The  region  is  languid  and  satisfying — a  gem  of  nature 
guarded  by  high  blue  hills  and  looking  out  upon  a 
bluer  ocean. 

Santa  Monica  and  San  Pedro  are  the  twin  sea-ports 
of  Los  Angeles.  The  former  is  devoted  to  pleasure, 
and  the  latter  to  business.  Santa  Monica  occupies  the 
crest  of  a  high  bluff,  against  which  the  waves  sound 
their  ceaseless  roar,  and  San  Pedro  stands  beside  a 
protected  harbor,  where  ships  ride  safely  at  anchor. 
The  town  is  the  Piraeus  of  Los  Angeles,  receiving  the 
freight  from  the  steamers  and  sending  it  by  rail  to  the 
city,  and  depending  entirely  on  its  neighbors  for  what- 
ever life  it  has.  When  Richard  Dana  acted  as  sailor 
before  the  mast  he  packed  hides  along  the  San  Pedro 
shore,  and  to-day  one's  baggage  is  trucked  over  the 
same  ground  when  he  leaves  Los  Angeles  for  the  sail 
up  the  coast  to  that  other  abiding  place  of  the  Fran- 
ciscan fathers,  Santa  Barbara,  the  pride  of  every  Cali- 
fornian  and  the  most  attractive  village,  to  every  lover 
of  the  picturesque,  in  the  State. 

The  ocean  pathway  along  the  western  shores  of 
America  has  been  followed  for  centuries.  Over  it 
moved  the  Spanish  discoverers,  and  up  it  sailed  Sir 
Francis  Drake,  on  his  _  way  to  the  Bay  of  San  Fran- 
cisco. Later,  the  ships  bearing  the  Argonauts  of  '49 
moved  slowly  past  the  sombre  headlands  that  one 
passes  to-day.  It  was  all  chance  and  guess  work  then, 
for  none  knew  what  lay  before  them  when  the  journey 
ended.     But  now  there  is  certainty  in  place  of  conjee- 


With  the  Franciscan  Fathers.  143 

ture,  and  when,  darkness  having  stolen  over  the  islands 
and  hid  the  shores,  a  light  flashes  its  rays  over  the 
waters,  one  knows  that  behind  the  long  arm  of  the 
wharf,  toward  which  the  steamer  makes,  Santa  Bar- 
bara stands  waiting,  and  that  it  is  the  lights  of  the  town 
that  glimmer  through  the  shadows  of  the  night. 

A  new  Santa  Barbara  has  overgrown  the  old,  and 
modern  houses  are  fast  driving  out  the  old  ones;  but 
the  surroundings  of  the  place  are  all  the  same,  and  the 
oak-clad  hills  still  stand  in  all  their  glory  overlooking 
the  town  and  its  valley,  and  the  Pacific.  Even  in 
these  active  times,  when  the  ceaseless  energy  of  man 
is  robbing  valleys  of  their  former  quiet  and  supplant- 
ing adobe  villages  by  busy  towns,  Santa  Barbara  seems 
to  have  escaped  the  general  reformation  and  to  have 
retained  its  old-time  peacefulness.  With  no  railway 
connection  with  the  outside  world  and  no  desire  for  it, 
the  town  lies  snugly  nestled  in  a  sunlit  valley  that 
opens  upon  a  land-locked  bay  where  the  waters  are 
proverbially  calm.  North  and  south  behind  the  village 
run  the  mountains  of  the  Santa  Ynez,  their  foothills 
crowned  by  oaks,  and  the  main  range  penetrated  by 
narrow  canons  leading  to  rugged  heights  of  solid  rock. 
Facing  the  channel  extending  ^o  the  open  sea  are  other 
hills,  low  and  rounded,  half  sheltering  the  valley  on 
the  south  and  merging  at  last  into  a  stretch  of  yellow- 
beach,  that  runs  in  graceful  curve  for  miles  to  Carpen- 
teria  and  blue-hued  Rincon  peak. 

Within  the  peaceful  vale,  forever  green  and  fresh, 


T44  With  the  Invader: 

lies  the  sleepy  city,  with  its  one  main  street  reaching 
up  the  narrow  valley,  from  the  waters  of  the  bay,  to 
where  the  Mission  stands  and  yellow  fields  appear  in 
sight.  The  region  is  restful  to  look  at  and  to  live  in, 
guarded  by  mountains,  isolated  from  activity,  blessed 
with  a  genial  climate,  the  home  of  an  eternal  summer. 
The  beauties  of  three  countries  are  combined.  With 
the  Swiss  suggestiveness  of  the  mountains  there  is  the 
Scottish  flavor  of  the  valley,  while  the  bay  is  that  of 
Naples,  blue  and  sparkling,  and  sending  bits  of  foamy 
white  upon  a  yellow  shore,  pressed  down  upon  by  hills 
of  blue.  No  wonder  the  early  padres  loved  the  spot,  or 
that  before  their  time  it  had  been  for  years  the  home 
of  now  forgotten  Indians. 

The  history  of  Santa  Barbara  is  uneventful.  No 
fierce  wars  were  ever  waged  for  its  possession,  but  the 
Spanish  fathers  quietly  established  themselves  within 
the  valley,  and  built  the  Mission  that  still  stands  over- 
looking the  little  town  gathered  before  it.  Previous  to 
their  day  the  region  was  peopled  by  Indians,  and  an 
early  Spanish  navigator  who  sailed  into  Santa  Barbara 
Bay  as  long  ago  as  1542  claims  to  have  passed  several 
months  among  the  indolent  aborigines  who  are  now  so 
scattered  and  forgotten.  In  1602  another  Spanish 
captain — Sebastian  Vizcaino — rediscovered  the  original 
village  and  explored  the  islands  lying  off  the  coast;  and 
following  him  came  others  from  the  mother  country 
who  displaced  the  primitive  huts  with  adobe  cottages, 
and  gained  at  last  full  possession  of  the  land. 


With  the  Franciscan  Fathers. 


'45 


Then  came  the  padres^  temporal  rulers  as  well  as 
spiritual,  under  whom  the  Indians  that  remained  were 
furicd  to  till  the  fields  and  labor  on  the  Mission.  For 
years  the  valley  was  ruled  by  subjects  of  Old  Spain, 
and  Spanish  galleys  anchored  in  the  harbor.  As  the 
Mission  neared  completion,  the  town  continued  to 
grow.  Vine-clad  cottages  were  grouped  about  a  fort, 
the  fields  were  tilled,  and  a  lazy  contentment  was  char- 
acteristic of  the  place. 


SANTA  BARBARA  MISSION. 

And  the  contentment  of  the  early  days  still  lingers 
about  the  town,  though  the  Mission  has  lost  its  power, 
and  Americans  have  settled  around  it.  Spanish  cot- 
tages have  given  way  to  modern  ones  peopled  by  an- 
other race;  the  place  enjoys  the  distinction  of  being  a 
fashionable  winter  resort;  and  yet  it  retains  its  ancient 
ease,  its  listless  inactivity.  No  noise  of  manufacturing 
establishments  breaks  the  ever-present  quiet;  no  harsh 


1^6  With  the  Invader: 

whistle  of  an  engine  ever  reverberates  from  the  moun- 
tain sides.  At  timts  arrivals  enter  the  town  by  stage, 
but  more  often  come  by  boat;  but  even  their  appear- 
ance does  not  affect  the  general  serenity  of  the  people 
or  disturb  the  even  tenor  of  the  town. 

There  is  a  neutrality  about  the  place.  Life  to  it  is 
not  a  burden;  nor  is  it  an  hilarious  pleasure.  One 
living  in  Santa  Barbara  never  feels  inclined  to  be  bois- 
terous, but  is  not  subdued.  The  region  calms  the 
excited,  invigorates  the  depressed;  and  yet,  in  time, 
the  strong  and  weak,  the  nervous  and  the  placid,  lose 
both  their  positive  and  their  negative  qualities,  and 
become  imbued  with  the  genial  characteristics  of  the 
town  itself.  The  surroundings  invite  placidity;  nature, 
even,  knows  but  little  change  from  month  to  month. 
November  merges  into  May,  and  roses  never  fail  to 
bloom.  The  winter  of  December  is  the  summer  of 
June,  and  the  summer  of  June  is  the  winter  of  Decem- 
ber. It  is  only  polite  fiction  to  grant  that  Santa  Bar- 
bara has  any  seasons  at  all.  The  grasses  are  greener 
and  the  flowers  are  fresher  and  more  abundant  at  one 
time,  perhaps,  than  at  another;  but  the  air  is  ever  soft, 
the  oaks  are  always  fresh,  the  sea  is  rarely  cold. 

With  the  evenness  of  temperature  and  the  natural 
attractions  existing,  it  is  not  strange  that  the  town 
invites  and  holds  the  affections  of  both  strangers  and 
of  residents.  Its  beauty  is  of  a  restful  nature.  Explor- 
ing the  secluded  canons  of  the  Santa  Ynez,  with  their 
fresh  green  beauty  and  commanding  view  of  distant 


With  the  Franciscan  Fathers.  147 

waters,  holding  on  their  bosom  the  mountain  islands  of 
the  bay,  one  forgets  that  there  arc  turmoils  in  the  world, 
that  killing  winter  ever  reigns,  that  life  is  ever  harsh 
and  drear.  There  is  picturesqucness  rather  than  gran- 
deur everywhere,  and  yet  the  mountains  are  often  high 
and  rugged.  But  their  coloring  is  exquisite,  and  the 
canons  leading  among  them  are  choked  with  bushes 
and  redolent  with  sweet  odors.  As  for  the  valley, 
gently  sloping  down  from  orange  groves  and  cultivated 
fields  past  the  blue  waters  of  the  bay  to  other  groves 
half  hiding  the  villas  of  Montecito  and  Carpenteria,  its 
attractions  never  weary  because  never  commonplace. 
Fruitful  fields,  extending  about  the  Mission,  fill  its 
upper  end,  and  the  opposite  extremity  lies  beside  the 
curved  shore  of  the  bay,  with  Rincon  Peak  overlooking 
it,  and  a  range  of  hills  guarding  it  on  the  north. 

From  the  Mission  the  valley  is  especially  attractive. 
Below  one  is  the  town,  its  white  houses  gleaming 
through  masses  of  foliage,  and  beyond  it  the  unruffled 
bay,  with  its  blue-hued  islands.  Up  the  valley,  fields 
of  yellow,  dotted  with  dark-green  oaks,  press  upon  the 
hillsides,  and  above  them  rise  the  mountains.  The 
prospect  is  one  of  simple  beauty,  highly  colored  and 
picturesque.  Painted  at  sunset  with  every  glorious 
hue,  the  valley,  even  at  noonday,  has  a  charm  peculiarly 
its  own,  and  one  that  is  recognized  by  all. 

In  its  middle  age,  when  the  Argonauts  had  only 
begun  to  settle  in  California,  Santa  Barbara  was  one  of, 
if  not  the  leading  city  in  the  State.     But  as  its  rivals 


148  With  the  Invader: 

grew  it  barely  held  its  own,  and  even  at  the  present 
time  contains  but  5000  people,  and  is  but  a  village  in 
reality,  though  a  city  by  name.  There  is  but  little 
business  transacted  in  the  town,  and  the  shops  lining 
the  street  that  extends  up  the  valley  from  the  bay  do 
nothing  beyond  supplying  residents,  visitors  and  the 
buyers  from  the  neighboring  country.  The  nearest  rail- 
way station  is  eighty  miles  away,  and  the  only  commu- 
nication with  the  outside  world  is  by  steamers  that  call 
once  a  week  on  their  way  from  San  Francisco  to  San 
Pedro  and  San  Diego. 

The  town,  in  fact,  is  a  resort.  Invalids  seek  it  for 
the  genial  climate  that  exists,  and  others  for  the  pleas- 
ures which  the  out-of-door  life  affords.  Strange  as  it 
may  seem,  considering  the  fact  that  the  summers  are 
never  other  than  delightful,  Santa  Barbara,  until  lately, 
has  never  been  recognized  except  as  a  winter  resort. 
From  November  until  May  has  hitherto  been  the  pop- 
ular season ;  but  the  present  summer  saw  many  visitors, 
and  probably  the  next  will  see  many  more.  One  can- 
not imagine  a  more  delightful  resort  for  the  warm 
months.  No  matter  how  fiercely  the  sun  may  shine, 
the  shade  is  always  cool,  and  the  nights  never  op- 
pressive. 

It  is  dangerous,  perhaps,  to  recommend  any  one 
place  to  invalids,  and  yet  there  are  reasons  authorizing 
one  to  say  that  Santa  Barbara  might  be  selected  with 
the  certainty  of  benefit  being  received.  Though  near 
the  sea,  the  air  is  comparatively  dry  and  invigorating, 


With  the  Franciscan  Fathers.  149 


while  the  climate  is  that  of  Southern  France.  In  sum- 
mer there  is  little  rain,  and  in  winter  the  wet  season  is 
interspersed  with  dear,  warm  days.  Many  suffering 
from  pulmonary  and  miasmatic  diseases  have  been 
greatly  benefited,  and  others  may  be.  The  town  is  a 
sanitarium,  but  will  not  benefit  all — no  place  can. 
Some  fail  in  Colorado,  where  the  elevation  is  7000  feet, 
and  improve  at  Santa  Barbara,  on  the  sea  level,  and 
vice  versa.  But  if  an  equable  climate,  and  weather 
inviting  out-door  life  are  desired,  the  little  town  by  the 
Mission  Santa  Barbara  might  be  selected  with  the  con- 
fident belief  that  it  would  do  much  toward  restoring 
shattered  health. 

The  accommodations  are  excellent.  Beside  the 
private  boarding-houses,  comfortable  and  reasonable  in 
price,  there  is  the  world-famed  "Arlington,"  which 
Colonel  Hollister  built.  There  arc  hotels  and  hotels; 
but  the  "Arlington"  is  the  hotel.  Delightfully  situated 
so  as  to  overlook  the  town  and  the  bay,  it  is  as  large, 
roomy  and  comfortable  as  a  Saratoga  palace.  A  town 
of  rare  beauty,  but  with  a  poor  hotel,  might  as  well 
subside  at  once.  To  satisfy  the  soul,  the  stomach  must 
not  be  neglected.  While  Santa  Barbara  satisfies  the 
mind,  the  "Arlington"  caters  royally  to  the  body.  It  is 
part  and  parcel  of  the  town,  one  of  the  good  things 
that  man  has  provided.  It  is  more  of  a  home  than 
a  hotel,  and  its  grounds  give  unfailing  delight  to  the 
lovers  of  green  lawns  and  flowers,  for  they  have  both  in 
rich  profusion.     Charles  Nordhoff  said  there  was  but 


ijo  With  the  Invader: 

one  Santa  Barbara,  and  but  one  "Arlington;"  and  his 
sentiment  has  been  echoed  ever  since. 

Entering  Santa  Barbara  by  way  of  the  sea,  or  com- 
ing into  the  valley  from  over  the  mountains,  the  Mis- 
sion is  the  most  conspicuous  object  seen.  Set  upon 
elevated  ground,  and  commanding  a  view  of  extended 
surroundings,  it  is  one  of  the  most  attractive,  and  per- 
haps the  best  preserved,  of  all  the  churches  that  the 
Spanish  fathers  built.  The  facade,  which  rises  above 
a  wide  doorway,  reached  by  a  flight  of  low  stone  steps, 
is  guarded  by  twin  towers,  each  with  its  quota  of  Span- 
ish bells,  and  capped  by  an  ornamented  cornice,  on 
which   the  swallows  have   built  their   mass  of  nests. 

Westward  from  the  broad  white  front  extends  a  long, 
low-storied  wing,  faced  with  graceful  arches  opening 
from  a  shaded  corridor.  Another  flight  of  gray  stone 
steps  leads  into  this  and  across  it  to  a  heavy  door 
opening  into  a  darkened  hall,  which  is  the  particular 
sanctum  of  the  friars  now  guarding  the  church. 

The  interior  of  the  main  building  is  long  and  high, 
and  contains  upon  the  walls  several  copies  of  paintings 
placed  there  by  the  founders  of  the  Mission.  Services 
are  still  held  in  the  church,  and  fete-days  are  scrupu- 
lously observed.  The  fathers  dress  in  coarse  robes, 
girded  at  the  waist  by  a  stout  cord,  and  wear  sandals. 
Their  cells  are  open  to  male  inspection,  but  not  to 
that  of  the  other  sex.  Nor  can  a  woman  enter  the 
garden  of  the  Mission,  which  lies  behind  the  church. 
It  is  a  quiet  place,  this  guarded  loitering  ground,  and 


With  the  Franciscan   Jut t hers.  IJI 

is  filled  with  flowers  and  chattering  swallows  and 
shaded  walks. 

In  the  Mission's  day  of  greatness  an  adobe  wall  sur- 
rounded its  grounds,  and  the  fathers  were  wealthy  as 
well  as  powerful.  The  old  wall  has  nearly  disappeared 
to-day,  however,  and  the  fathers  are  poor  and  power- 
less. They  have  lost  their  lands,  and  those  who  wor- 
ship with  them  are  not  wealthy.  And  yet  some  of  the 
hooded  monks,  with  shaven  pates,  are  as  round  as 
history  describes  their  brothers,  and  are  jovial  speci- 
mens of  mankind.  Isolating  themselves  from  the  world 
and  sleeping  in  narrow  cells,  they  lead  poetic  lives,  at 
least,  and  lend  by  their  presence  an  additional  attract- 
iveness to  their  home. 

Obliterate  the  houses  of  Santa  Barbara  and  leave 
but  the  Mission  standing,  and  one  would  be  trans- 
ported bac1:  a  century,  in  imagination,  without  the 
slightest  tiouble.  For  the  church  has  changed  but 
little  in  appearance  or  in  customs  since  it  was  first 
erected.  Time  has  colored  the  once  white  walls,  to  be 
sure,  and  has  chipped  off  the  sharp  corners,  and  planted 
grasses  in  various  crevices.  But  the  bells  still  peal 
out  their  calls  for  prayers,  the  busy  swallows  still  circle 
about  the  old  facade,  and  the  peaceful  serenity  of  the 
pile  is  ever  present.  Picturesque  in  its  location,  with 
the  mountains  rising  behind  it  and  the  valley  stretching 
out  before,  it  is  no  less  so  in  its  architecture.  The 
towers,  broken  by  cornices  into  three  sections,  are 
solidly  yet  gracefully  constructed,  and  are  capped  by 


i j 2  With  the  Invader: 

rounded  domes  surmounted  by  antiquated  weather 
vanes.  Over  the  doorway  the  roof  meets  at  an  angle, 
and  above  this  stands  a  bit  of  ornamentation  holding 
the  symbolic  cross. 

The  Mission  was  founded  in  1786,  two  years  after 
the  death  of  Father  Junipero  Serra  at  Monterey.  He 
had  selected  the  spot  and  name,  however,  before  his 
death,  and  the  foundations  were  probably  begun  as 
earl}- as  17  84.  Upon  its  completion,  the  church  was 
placed  in  charge  of  two  priests,  one  of  whom  was 
Father  Antonio  Paterna,  under  whose  supervision  the 
funds  granted  by  the  Viceroy  of  Mexico,  by  authority 
of  the  King  of  Spain,  were  expended  and  the  work  of 
civilization  continued. 

The  capital  stock  of  each  Mission  founded  in  New 
Spain  consisted  of  a  band  of  two  hundred  black  cattle, 
with  a  few  sheep  and  horses.  The  church  at  Santa  Bar- 
bara, however,  soon  had  a  large  increase  from  the  orig- 
inal grant,  and  became  comparatively  wealthy.  The 
Indians  w*ere  first  baptized,  and  then  taught  to  labor 
for  their  own  livelihood  and  for  the  benefit  of  the  Mis- 
sion. The  monks  introduced  the  olive  tree  and  the 
Mission  grape,  and  in  addition  so  civilized  the  Indians 
that  some  of  the  more  talented  became  expert  musi- 
cians, and  artists  of  sufficient  ability  to  copy  the  Span- 
ish pictures  that  hang  within  the  church. 

In  1833-34  the  Act  of  Secularization  was  passed  by 
the  Mexican  Congress.  By  it  the  monks  lost  control 
of  their  lands,  and  the  property  which  they  had  accu- 


With  the  Franciscan  Fathers.  ijj 

mulated  during  years  of  labor  and  hardship.  Thus 
deprived  of  their  only  means  of  support,  many  of  the 
friars  disbanded,  and  returned  to  their  respective 
homes.  The  Indians  also  left  and  went  south  about 
Los  Angeles,  where  a  few  scattered  remnants  may  still 
be  found. 

In  1854  a  religious  house  of  the  order  of  St.  Francis 
was  founded,  with  headquarters  at  the  parish  church 
that  stood  in  Santa  Barbara.  But  the  Mission  build- 
ing being  larger  and  more  suitable,  the  monks  of  the 
new  order  moved  into  it,  and  have  lived  there  ever 
since,  and  the  old  church  is  now  an  apostolic  college 
for  the  education  of  youth  for  the  order  and  as  mis- 
sionaries. The  community  to-day  numbers  twelve 
brothers,  among  whom  are  apt  to  be  a  few  novices. 
They  have  in  a  measure  saved  the  building  from  utter 
ruin,  but  it  and  the  gardens  are  far  from  being  in  the 
condition  they  were  before  the  Act  of  Secularization 
was  passed. 

The  plan  of  the  Mission  is  rambling  and  uncertain. 
Rooms  were  added  when  and  where  they  were  most 
needed,  without  regard  to  unity.  The  towers  are  ot 
stone,  plastered  with  a  coarse  layer  of  cement,  and  the 
walls  are  mostly  of  adobe  mixed  with  brick.  Formerly 
the  roof  was  tiled,  but  the  huge  sustaining  beams  rot- 
ting away,  it  was  replaced  with  shingles. 

Near  Santa  Barbara  are  the  two  suburbs  of  Monte- 
cito  and  Carpenteria — the  one  wedged  into  a  valley 
penetrating  the  Santa  Ynez,  and  the  other  facing  the 


IS 4  With  the  Invader: 

bay,  with  the  range  guarding  it  on  the  north.  Car- 
penteria  is  a  town  of  ranches,  and  Montecito  of  villas 
and  groves.  Both  vie  in  attractiveness  with  Santa 
Barbara,  but  are  more  or  less  absorbed  by  the  latter 
place,  and  properly  belong  to  it.  Beyond  the  Mission, 
and  opening  into  the  valley,  are  various  canons  of  dif- 
ferent size — some  still  as  Nature  created  them,  brush- 
grown  and  wild,  and  others  cultivated  and  containing 
olive  and  orange  orchards.  To  the  left  of  the  valley, 
and  bordering  the  bay,  is  the  Hope  Ranch.  In  it  are 
rounded  hills,  cultivated  here  and  studded  with  live 
oaks  there,  over  which  one  may  ride  to  the  beach,  with 
its  high  cliffs  and  yellow  sands  that  runs  around  rocky 
points  and  past  Castle  Gate  to  the  wharf  at  the  lower 
end  of  the  town. 

One  must  live  long  to  become  tired  of  the  rides  and 
rambles  about  Santa  Barbara.  Those  who  have  en- 
joyed them  the  longest  love  them  the  most.  Nature  has 
beautified  and  man  has  not  injured  them.  They  are 
ever  fresh  and  attractive.  Here  the  way  is  through 
green  canons,  with  colored  rocks  shining  through  green 
shrubs  and  clear  streams  flowing  over  granite  ledges ; 
and  here  out  upon  the  beach,  curving  like  a  crescent, 
past  abruptly  rising  cliffs  and  by  the  side  of  deep  blue 
waters.  One  path  leads  to  orange  groves,  another  to 
mountain  heights  and  others  to  tree-grown  points,  from 
which  the  valley,  town  and  bay  are  visible  far  below. 

Old  Santa  Barbara,  the  village  of  Spanish  cottages, 
is  being  rapidly  destroyed.     The  Presidio,  that  once 


With  the  Franciscan  Fathers.  753 


stood  in  the  center  of  the  town,  has  but  a  single  wall 
remaining  to  mark  where  the  fort  once  was,  and  the 
houses  about  it  are  every  year  growing  fewer  in  num- 
ber. Those  that  have  been  left,  however,  add  yet 
another  attraction  to  the  city,  and  serve  to  recall  the 
days  when  Americans  were  unknown,  and  Spanish 
authority  was  recognized  by  all. 


THE  SPANISH  QUARTER. 

They  are  solidly  built  structures  of  adobe  and  heavy 
beams,  and  the  walls,  if  left  alone,  would  stand  another 
century.  Rarely  over  one  story  in  height,  the  houses 
are  roofed  with  bright  red  tiles,  old-fashioned  and  cum- 
brous, and  have  deep  porticos,  with  trailing  vines 
clinging  to  them.  The  windows  are  small  and  deep- 
set,  and  the  more  pretentious  houses  are  built  around 
an  open  court. 

It  may  be  that  the  exigencies  of  the  time  require  the 
removal  of  the  Spanish  quarters,  and  possibly  the  town 
will  in  the  future  shake  off  its  present  listless  air,  and 
enjoy  a  boom  calculated  to  make  glad  the  heart  of 


zj(5  With  the  Invader: 

land  agents.  But  one  cannot  help  regretting  whatever 
immolations  there  have  been  in  the  past,  or  will  be  in 
the  future.  To-day  the  town  is  not  robbed  of  its 
greatest  charms,  and  those  who  know  it  trust  it  never 
will  be.  Modem  improvements  will  not  assimilate 
with  nature's  work  in  Santa  Barbara.  Spoil  its  natur- 
alness, and  it  will  grow  commonplace.  The  valley  is 
a  favored  nook  of  California.  Modernized,  it  and  the 
town  will  become  mere  fashionable  resorts,  instead  of 
remaining  as  they  are  to-day — incomparable  and  abso- 
lutely satisfactory. 


Lu 


